text stringlengths 14 5.77M | meta dict | __index_level_0__ int64 0 9.97k ⌀ |
|---|---|---|
import org.scalatest._
import loops._
import scala.util.{ Try, Success, Failure }
/*
* Note to student: You may NOT change this file (the tests)
*/
class LoopScalaTestFlatSpecMatchers extends FlatSpec with Matchers {
"stringOfReps()" should "handle empty string" in {
val result = stringOfReps("",10)
result should be ("")
}
it should "return correct values" in {
val result = stringOfReps("Banana",3)
result should be ("BananaBananaBanana")
}
it should "also handle spaces" in {
val result = stringOfReps("Orange ",5)
result should be ("Orange Orange Orange Orange Orange ")
}
"factorial()" should "handle edge cases" in {
factorial(0) should be (1)
factorial(-1) should be (1)
}
it should "work for normal values" in {
factorial(1) should be (1)
factorial(2) should be (2)
factorial(3) should be (6)
factorial(4) should be (24)
factorial(8) should be (40320)
}
"printRectangle()" should "work for normal values" in {
val out = printRectangle(3, 2, "i", "e")
out should be ("""eeeee
|eiiie
|eiiie
|eeeee""".stripMargin)
val out2 = printRectangle(6, 2, "x", "o")
out2 should be ("""oooooooo
|oxxxxxxo
|oxxxxxxo
|oooooooo""".stripMargin)
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 7,610 |
{"url":"https:\/\/electronics.stackexchange.com\/questions\/39728\/sending-data-from-rn-171-in-adhoc-mode","text":"# Sending data from RN-171 in adhoc mode\n\nFirst, I'd like to note that I'm a software engineer by profession and haven't had anything but trivial experience in interfacing with hardware.\n\nWith that said, I'm looking at getting a prototype going with an electrical engineer.\n\nBasically, we have an RN-171 WiFi module that we need to communicate with an iPhone.\n\nI'm not sure why the exact module was chosen as it's made to connect to WiFi network and GET and POST information to it. We want to use it differently however, we want it to broadcast a network in Adhoc mode and connect an iPhone to it which was trivial.\n\nThe next step is, once the iPhone is connected, we need to be able to retrieve data from the device. The device is hooked up to a microprocessor which is hooked up to some monitoring devices. The idea is, the device saves monitoring data to a memory card, a user comes along and wants to check the logs, so he connects to the Adhoc network using his iPhone, sends a request to the RN-171 which then somehow sends a message to the microprocessor asking it to send through the log data to the iPhone over WiFi (can't assume there will be any other device other than the iPhone and can't assume a 3G network is available).\n\nThe thing is, the device isn't programmable as far as I can tell so I have no idea how I can achieve that. To be honest, I don't care how the RN-171 communicates to the iPhone.\n\nI noticed that port 80 was open so I tried to access the device through the web browser but all I'm getting is an empty screen and I don't think there's any way to get it to display any info (although it would be good if I could...).\n\nThe device also interfaces over port 2000 so I connected to it via that port using telnet and could see messages from my laptop connected to the device (which I'm testing with) but I could figure out, again, how to send it to send messages to the device.\n\nI did realize, however, that there is a command set comm remote <message> where message can be a 32 character long string of choice. So far that looks to be my best way to communicate to the device (assuming ios can talk to the device over port 20) that I've found which is pretty sad. Basically, I'll have to connect and disconnect from the port, each time receiving up to 32 length of character data which sounds ridiculous.\n\nSo yeah, it may be quite obvious that I don't have much idea where I'm heading so any information will be very appreciated as to where I can go from here and what my options are using this device.\n\nEDIT: The issue is how to communicate from the device to the iPhone. The remote message I mentioned is shown up when a TCP connection is established to the device. For example, if I set the message to TEST, when I telnet to the device over port 2000, I'll get back TEST. Obviously this isn't meant to be a way for the device to communicate data to a device connected in Adhoc mode.\n\nThe ideal scenario is when the connected device makes a HTTP request to the WiFi device, I get back some custom infomation (for example a table of data). If not, then any other method of communication is okay. Basically I want to know how to communicate information from the WiFi device to the iPhone when the iPhone requests information.\n\n\u2022 I assume you're talking about the Roving Networks module. Are you following the procedures in the user manual? It would be helpful if you could tell us which step is failing and what exactly you are or are not seeing. \u2013\u00a0Dave Tweed Sep 7 '12 at 14:34\n\u2022 @Nraf: I've worked on iPhone-RNXV interaction, but please clarify what your question is exactly. \u2013\u00a0boardbite Sep 7 '12 at 14:50\n\nI noticed that port 80 was open\n\nOn an RN-171? This module supports HTTP client mode only and has no HTTP server, unless we talk about custom firmware.\n\nsomehow sends a message to the microprocessor\n\nSounds like you really need to read the (WiFly) manual again. The RN-171 has a UART interface, and you can use it to talk through the WLAN module from our microcontroller to your iPhone, in both ways. In short, you open a tcp port on your phone and use it like an oldschool serial port that is connected to your MCU.\n\n\u2022 ... and just to add to that, there's no reason at all your microcontroller couldn't be running an HTTP server over that UART connection, so that if your iPhone's browser is directed to port 2000 on the RN-171, it could get web pages from the microcontroller. HTTP is just a layer on top of TCP\/IP, so you can have the RN-171 doing the latter while your microcontroller does the former. \u2013\u00a0Dave Tweed Sep 7 '12 at 20:39\n\u2022 Nice idea, but a HTTP server is tough to implement on a microcontroller - even when you don't have to fiddle with TCP\/IP. \u2013\u00a0Turbo J Sep 7 '12 at 20:55\n\u2022 Not true! First of all, the OP hasn't told us what kind of microcontroller he's using; it could be a relatively powerful PIC32 or ARM running an operating system. Secondly, I have seen some very effective web-based user interfaces implemented on 8-bit micros. The HTTP server itself can be very bare-bones, and you can push a lot of fancy functionality onto the browser using JavaScript and AJAX-like techniques. \u2013\u00a0Dave Tweed Sep 7 '12 at 21:05\n\u2022 Hmm... it's not so much that I didn't read the manual. I didn't know what UART was. Do you have useful resources where I can get started? \u2013\u00a0NRaf Sep 7 '12 at 23:28\n\u2022 @NRaf: Geez, where to start? That's really a conversation you should be having with your electrical engineer, who will be able to direct you to resouces specific to the microcontroller you're using. \u2013\u00a0Dave Tweed Sep 8 '12 at 0:46\n\nI've managed to get this working. I could host a web server on the iPhone using CocoaHTTPServer and then send requests to it from the device.\n\nI have experimented with RN-171. It has built-in HTTP client that reports the status of it's i\/o pins to host server by using GET or POST. I saw folks at http:\/\/iturniton.com did something similar for Android.","date":"2021-05-11 11:36:18","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.20758867263793945, \"perplexity\": 1143.5146510403351}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-21\/segments\/1620243991982.8\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210511092245-20210511122245-00529.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
{"url":"https:\/\/tex.stackexchange.com\/questions\/142945\/too-large-line-spacing-with-different-font-size-tiny-in-beamer","text":"# Too large line spacing with different font size (\\tiny) in beamer\n\nWhen using the \\tiny font in slides created with the beamer package I find that the spacing between lines in a wrapped paragraph is too large. (This only happens when mixing fonts within one paragraph.) How do I avoid this?\n\nMinimal working example:\n\n\\documentclass{beamer}\n\\begin{document}\n\n\\begin{frame}\nLarge Text. And then smaller like so: \\\\\n{\\tiny In mathematics, the method of considering a minimal counterexample (or minimal criminal) combines the ideas of inductive proof and proof by contradiction.[1] Abstractly, in trying to prove a proposition P, one assumes that it is false, and [...]\n} \\\\\n(excerpt from \\texttt{https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Minimal counterexample})\n\\end{frame}\n\n\\end{document}\n\n\u2022 @fuenfundachtzig Could you maybe accept the answer to mark the question as solved? \u2013\u00a0MERose Nov 21 '16 at 9:46\n\nI found the answer on comp.text.tex: You just need to add \\par after the tiny text (and remove the \\\\) like so:\n\n\\documentclass{beamer}\n\\begin{document}\n\n\\begin{frame}\nLarge Text. And then smaller like so: \\\\\n{\\tiny In mathematics, the method of considering a minimal counterexample (or minimal criminal) combines the ideas of inductive proof and proof by contradiction.[1] Abstractly, in trying to prove a proposition P, one assumes that it is false, and [...]\n\\par\n}\n(excerpt from \\texttt{https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Minimal counterexample})\n\\end{frame}\n\n\\end{document}\n\n\u2022 It is because the line spacing is calculated at the end of the paragraph. Without the \\par the paragraph ends outside the } and thus outside the \\tiny \u2013\u00a0daleif Nov 8 '13 at 9:46\n\u2022 So par is like \\\\ but in addition tells LaTeX that it needs to (re-)compute the line spacing, right? \u2013\u00a0fuenfundachtzig Nov 12 '13 at 11:33\n\u2022 No \\par is paragraph end, the definition of \\\\ varies from the context it is being used. In normal text it is the same as \\newline. However, 99% of all cases, a user should never use \\\\ or \\newline in the text. \u2013\u00a0daleif Nov 12 '13 at 15:13","date":"2021-04-21 13:48:04","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.996688961982727, \"perplexity\": 1418.0668224063268}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-17\/segments\/1618039544239.84\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210421130234-20210421160234-00258.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
What's it going to take to see sustained revival of God in our city?
The 4 Fields Training is a 3 day intensive designed to unpack and apply the biblical framework of multiplying movements of God, in other words Revival! We will dive into Jesus' pattern of entering new fields, sharing the gospel, making disciples, forming churches, and reproducing leaders (Mark 4:26-29). Each participant/team will expirence a hands-on training that involves instruction, guided bible discovery, practice, and will receive a clear vision and plan for reaching their area. What's it going to take to see sustained Kingdom growth in our city? Let's do it! Ticket includes: 3 lunches, snacks, and childcare (if needed). | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 1,330 |
Q: Запрос MySQL Laravel не могу составить нужный мне запрос, не хватает мозгов.
Есть таблица Game в которой имеются следующие поля: id, user_id, dictionary_id, avg_speed, count_mistakes, percent_mistakes, created_at. Нужен запрос, который сгруппирует все строки по полю user_id и выведет поля user_id, max_speed (максимальная скорость), avg_speed (средняя), avg_mistakes (средний процент ошибок).
Функционал - таблица рекордов. Фильтры по дате: сегодня, неделя, все время. В зависимости от выбранной даты срабатывает условие when(). Результирующие поля avg_speed и avg_mistakes фильтровать по дате не нужно, то есть считать среднее из всех полей по этим колонкам.
Я собрал следующий запрос:
$records = Game::select('user_id',
DB::raw('MAX(avg_speed) as max_speed'),
DB::raw('AVG(avg_speed) as avg_speed'),
DB::raw('AVG(percent_mistakes) as avg_mistakes'))
->where('dictionary_id', $dictionary->id)
->when($request->sort == 'now', function ($query) {
$query->whereDate('created_at', Carbon::now());
})
->when($request->sort == 'week', function ($query) {
$query->whereDate('created_at', '<=', Carbon::now())
->whereDate('created_at', '>=', Carbon::now()->subDays(7));
})
->groupBy('user_id')
->orderBy('max_speed', 'DESC')
->paginate(30);
Проблема этого запроса в том, что поля avg_speed и avg_mistakes тоже сортируются по дате. Не понимаю как сделать по другому
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,977 |
Q: C: strcmp error while finding longest repeated substring I'm trying to create a program which returns the Longest repeated substring. I've almost got the solution, but for some reason my strcmp gives an error when he is busy to find the LRS. Could someone explain me why there is an error and how I solve this?
The code:
#include <stdio.h>
#include <stdlib.h>
#include <string.h>
#define NSTRINGS 4
char* searchLongestRepeatedSubstring(char* string);
char** makeSuffixArray(char* string);
void freeSuffixArray(char** suffixArray);
int cmp(const void*a, const void* b);
/* do not change this code */
int main(void)
{
char* strings[NSTRINGS] = {
"bananas",
"ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country",
"main",
"" };
char* result;
for (int i = 0; i < NSTRINGS; ++i)
{
result = searchLongestRepeatedSubstring(strings[i]);
if (result != NULL)
{
/* write out LRS */
printf("%s: \"%s\"\n", strings[i], result);
/* free() the result */
free(result);
result = NULL;
}
else
printf("Geen longest repeated substring.\n");
}
return 0;
}
/**
* Finds the LRS from a string using the function makeSuffixArray
*
* @param the given string
* @return the longest repeated substring
*/
char* searchLongestRepeatedSubstring(char* string)
{
char **p;
p = makeSuffixArray(string);
size_t length = strlen(string);
int max_sz = 0;
char max_word;
int curr_sz = 0;
int curr_word;
char* word1;
char* word2;
char s1, s2;
size_t length1;
size_t length2;
for (size_t i = 0; i < length; i++)
{
for (size_t j = i + 1; j < length; j++)
{
word1 = p[i];
word2 = p[j];
length1 = strlen(word1);
length2 = strlen(word1);
for (size_t x = 0; x < length1; x++)
{
s1 = word1[x];
for (size_t y = 0; y < length2; y++)
{
s2 = word2[y];
if (strcmp(s1, s2) == 0) {
curr_sz++;
strcat(curr_word, s1);
x++;
}
else
break;
}
}
if (curr_sz > max_sz) {
max_sz = curr_sz;
curr_sz = 0;
max_word = curr_word;
curr_word = "";
}
else {
curr_sz = 0;
curr_word = "";
}
}
}
return max_word;
}
/**
* Creates the suffix array of the given string
*
* @param the given string
* @return the suffix array
*/
char** makeSuffixArray(char* string)
{
size_t length = strlen(string);
char **p = (char**)malloc(length * sizeof(char*));
for (size_t i = 0; i < strlen(string); i++)
{
p[i] = &string[i];
puts(p[i]);
}
qsort(p, length, sizeof(char*), cmp);
return p;
}
int cmp(const void* a, const void* b)
{
char ** p = (char**)a;
char ** t = (char**)b;
return strcmp(*p, *t);
}
/**
* free() the memory allocated for the suffix array
*
* @param the given suffix array
*/
void freeSuffixArray(char** suffixArray)
{
free(suffixArray);
}
A: In your function char* searchLongestRepeatedSubstring-
if (strcmp(s1, s2) == 0) {
s1 and s2 are both char variables , and you pass them to strcmp which expects const char * as arguments , therefore, your compiler complaints .
You can compare them like this-
if(s1==s2)
Also this statement in same if block -
strcat(curr_word, s1);
instead you can do this -
size_t len=strlen(curr_word);
curr_word[len]=s1; // make sure curr_word is large enough
curr_word[len+1]='\0';
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 7,719 |
Technology Proves Mission Critical as Food Banks Deal with COVID-19 Crisis
Food banks across America turn to Blackbaud solutions to rapidly process unprecedented donation volumes and scale service work in their communities
CHARLESTON, S.C., April 14, 2020 /PRNewswire/ -- Blackbaud (NASDAQ: BLKB), the world's leading cloud software company powering social good, is powering food banks across the United States with critical technology to manage the influx of donations to keep up with the surge in demand for food during the COVID-19 pandemic.
While the operations of many social good organizations have been significantly challenged due to COVID-19, food banks are among a few bright spots in terms of fundraising and engagement levels. Food banks are widely relied on to supply food to pantries, soup kitchens, meal programs and other food scarcity organizations. As millions of Americans face food insecurity, many for the first time, food banks are experiencing surges in demand with the need for more donations to support that demand. While communities, philanthropists, celebrities, corporations and others have stepped up with donations to narrow the gap, Blackbaud—which supports a large number of the nation's food banks—has recorded a 1,300% year-over-year increase in online donations for this segment processed in the second half of March.
Time is of the essence as food banks around the country race to transform these donations into meals for people in need. Having the right cloud technology to communicate with supporters and potential donors, collect donations, securely and reliably process them and to manage them at scale is a critical part of the success equation. To meet the COVID-19 demands and disruptions head on, many food banks are relying on Blackbaud solutions.
"When the COVID-19 crisis overtook the U.S., food banks intensified their efforts to meet the sudden spike in demand," said Jay Odell, president and GM of Blackbaud Nonprofit Solutions. "With their quick, innovative actions and the trust they had already earned in their communities, many have seen a rush in donations, although there is still significant need. Major donors, celebrities and companies have also made major gifts to our customers, which is exciting to see. We are heartened to support so many food banks through Blackbaud's cloud-based solutions as they rise to the unique challenges of this moment."
Many Blackbaud customers have benefited from recent celebrity donations, including Food Lifeline, which received a donation of one million meals from Russell Wilson and his wife, Ciara, and Alameda County Community Food Bank, which was one recipient of a donation from Steph and Ayesha Curry's foundation, Eat. Learn. Play.
Food banks across the country have also demonstrated ingenuity in how they leverage technology to quickly adapt to both the need and the generosity coming in.
North Texas Food Bank (NTFB) faces more demand for food than ever before in its 13-county service area. "With unemployment rates rising at an all-time high and children being out of school, the need increases by the day," said Anna Kurian, senior director of marketing and communications, who noted that it's also more difficult to obtain because of the high demand for supplies at grocery stores. "With this increased demand, financial donations are critical for the North Texas Food Bank to continue providing nutritious food to our community."
NTFB has quickly adapted, pointing the public to purchase items from an Amazon Wishlist, shifting to low-contact distribution models and suspending its traditional volunteer program to allow hospitality industry workers who've lost income to sign up for paid work through a tech platform partner.
Those who still want to help from a distance are encouraged to become "virtual volunteers," spreading the word about the need on social media. A growing number of supporters, including the students of Plano West Choir, are using Blackbaud Peer-to-Peer Fundraising™, powered by JustGiving™, which is available to social good organizations at no subscription cost, to rally donations and showcase NTFB's efforts. One corporation has set a goal to raise $10,000 for its campaign. "The easy to use platform makes for strong peer-to-peer campaigns, turning supporters into champions of our mission," Kay said.
A Blackbaud customer for years, North Texas Food Bank had just migrated in March to the advanced capabilities of Blackbaud Peer-to-Peer Fundraising along with Blackbaud Luminate Online® and Blackbaud Raiser's Edge NXT®, meeting the needs of fundraising staff with flexibility during an uncertain time.
Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina saw a spike in daily online donations beginning March 13, as the state's government began asking citizens to take precautions. Donations intensified as the food bank shared a story of need and response through COVID-19 emails, website messaging and media; for example, highlighting the food bank's shift to distributing thousands of family-sized disaster boxes, each of which provides about 20 meals.
Totals for the second half of March reflected a 1,075% increase in donations over the same period last year, when the food bank had a major fundraising drive. To Samantha Wright, director of development operations and analytics, the uptick reflects the trust supporters put in the 40-year-old food bank, which now serves 34 counties in North Carolina. "Really, it's just so humbling and moving," she said. "They're listening to us, and they're responding."
Blackbaud's cloud-based solutions for fundraising and payment processing have seamlessly powered those efforts at a time when efficiency has been critical. "If we didn't have these systems and processes in place, the increased volume would have been overwhelming in light of all the changes to our staffing and operations," Wright said.
Gleaners Community Food Bank of Southeastern Michigan launched its Powered by Food Initiative—an online fundraising campaign to keep kids healthy and fed—the same day Gov. Gretchen Whitmer announced the state would close schools, and within hours community support started to flow in. The Gleaners team also created a COVID-19 Response portal that included local updates, resources and a direct link to the donation form.
Just as the food bank quickly pivoted on the communications and fundraising front, with an approximate increase in online fundraising of 1,100% during the second half of March compared to last year, the food bank added more than 50 emergency food distributions to its 500 agency partner network and increased its monthly food distribution by hundreds of thousands of pounds.
The food bank credits a "robust and flexible technological platform" for allowing them to establish COVID-19 content while handling significant website traffic increases, according to Stacy Averill, senior director of community engagement and PR for Gleaners. "Blackbaud provided consistent technological support and a platform capable of handling and implementing quick-paced updates and financial management, while allowing Gleaners to communicate outwardly to provide community reassurance and information," Averill said.
Learn more about Blackbaud's Cloud Solution for Nonprofits at Blackbaud.com/who-we-serve/nonprofit-organizations and get access to Blackbaud's robust library of free resources for the social good community during COVID-19 at Blackbaud.com/COVID-19-resources.
Except for historical information, all of the statements, expectations, and assumptions contained in this news release are forward-looking statements which are subject to the safe harbor provisions of the Private Securities Litigation Reform Act of 1995, including, but not limited to, statements regarding: the predictability of our business and financial results. These statements involve a number of risks and uncertainties. Although Blackbaud attempts to be accurate in making these forward-looking statements, it is possible that future circumstances might differ from the assumptions on which such statements are based. In addition, other important factors that could cause results to differ materially include the following: management of integration of acquired companies; uncertainty regarding increased business and renewals from existing customers; a shifting revenue mix that may impact gross margin; continued success in sales growth; uncertainty regarding the COVID-19 disruption; and the other risk factors set forth from time to time in the SEC filings for Blackbaud, copies of which are available free of charge at the SEC's website at www.sec.gov or upon request from Blackbaud's investor relations department. Blackbaud assumes no obligation and does not intend to update these forward-looking statements, except as required by law.
View original content to download multimedia:http://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/technology-proves-mission-critical-as-food-banks-deal-with-covid-19-crisis-301040207.html | {
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} | 7,976 |
\section{Third-party Libraries}
\label{sec:third-party}
\Frame\ makes use of a range of additional libraries both on server and on client side
(cf.~fig.~\ref{fig:third-party}). These are listed in the following without going into details.
However, the URLs provided give a good overview of the individual libraries.
\begin{figure}[ht]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.8\linewidth]{images/third-party}
\caption{Overview of \frame's third-party libraries}
\label{fig:third-party}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Server-side Libraries}
\label{sec:third-party-server}
\begin{description}
\item[LESS]
LESS is a dynamic stylesheet language that extends \gls{acr:css} by important features such as
variables, mixins, nesting and functions. It forms a superset of \gls{acr:css} as every valid
\gls{acr:css} file is also a valid LESS file. The language is integrated in the Play! framework
and is used to define the majority of \frame's layout.\par
\url{http://lesscss.org/}
\item[Joda Time]
Joda Time is an open-source Java library that provides a replacement for the core Java
\texttt{date} and \texttt{time} classes. It addresses numerous flaws concerning the API design,
implementation and performance. Joda Time is used for all date and time values in this work.\par
\url{http://joda-time.sourceforge.net/}
\item[Markdown \& Knockoff]
Knockoff is a simple parser for the lightweight markup language Markdown. It converts the
Markdown text to an object model which is subsequently translated to Scala's XHTML format. The
combination of Markdown and Knockoff provides lightweight formatting for \frame's text
attributes (cf.~sec.~\ref{sec:attributes}).\par
\url{http://daringfireball.net/projects/markdown/}\\
\url{http://tristanjuricek.com/knockoff/}
\item[Typesafe Mailer]
This simple emailer plug-in developed by Typesafe itself is used to send confirmation emails to
\frame\ users. It is configured via the \texttt{smtp}-prefixed parameters in
\texttt{conf/application.conf}.\par
\url{https://github.com/typesafehub/play-plugins/tree/master/mailer}
\end{description}
\subsection{Client-side Libraries}
\label{sec:third-party-client}
\begin{description}
\item[jQuery]
jQuery is a free and open source JavaScript library built to simplify client-side scripting.
Being the most popular JavaScript library in use,
\footnote{cf.~\url{http://w3techs.com/technologies/overview/javascript_library/all}
(visited on 03/01/2013)} it has become a de facto standard in professional web development.
jQuery features DOM traversal and manipulation, event handling and an AJAX abstraction
layer.\par
\url{http://jquery.com/}
\item[jQuery UI]
jQuery UI is built on top of jQuery and provides functionality for low-level interaction and
animation. The library's set of high-level widgets (such as \textit{Menu}, \textit{Datepicker}
or \textit{Dialog}) are not used, since Bootstrap offers excellent alternatives.\par
\url{http://jqueryui.com/}
\item[Bootstrap]
Bootstrap is a very popular\footnote{Bootstrap is the most popular project on \textit{GitHub}:
\url{https://github.com/popular/starred} (visited on 03/01/2013)} front-end toolkit developed
by Twitter for developing web applications. It comprises a collection of design templates and
\gls{acr:js} extensions for typography, forms, navigation and other \gls{acr:ui} components.
It is used for most of \frame's \gls{acr:ui} design.\par
\url{http://twitter.github.com/bootstrap/}\par
To further improve \frame's front-end design the following tools and libraries are used:
\begin{itemize}
\item \textbf{Bootswatch:} \url{http://bootswatch.com/}
\item \textbf{DatePicker:} \url{http://vitalets.github.com/bootstrap-datepicker/}
\item \textbf{TimePicker:} \url{http://jdewit.github.com/bootstrap-timepicker/}
\item \textbf{Select:} \url{http://silviomoreto.github.com/bootstrap-select/}
\item \textbf{Switch:} \url{http://www.larentis.eu/switch/}
\end{itemize}
\item[CodeMirror]
CodeMirror is a JavaScript editor component that provides a customizable code editor for web
pages. It includes syntax highlighting and coloring for code fragments both inside and outside
the editor component. The language-specific syntax is defined in a separate \gls{acr:js}
file\footnote{\Frame's syntax is located in
\texttt{public/third-party/codemirror/js/syntax.js}.}. CodeMirror is used to highlight \frame's
predicate definitions (cf.~sec.~\ref{sec:query-lang}).\par
\url{http://codemirror.net/}
\item[D3.js]
D3.js (aka \textbf{D}ata-\textbf{D}riven \textbf{D}ocuments) is a powerful visualization library
written in JavaScript. The \textit{Collapsible Tree Layout} is used to visualize the evaluation
of predicates (cf.~sec.~\ref{sec:query-lang-visualized}).\par
\url{http://d3js.org/}
\item[Select2]
Since HTML select boxes offer highly limited possibilities concerning data management and
styling, Select2 offers a jQuery-based replacement that supports searching, remote data sets and
improved styling. These are necessary for the implementation of (client-sided) relations.\par
\url{http://ivaynberg.github.com/select2/}
\end{description} | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 8,951 |
I'm Seb, I'm 31 and based in West Yorkshire, UK.
I've been vegan since 2007 and went vegetarian in 2005. I feel like becoming vegan really revolutionised how I feel about food, the environment and non-human animals. It also fits well with my lefty politics and the fact I live with other vegans and enjoy cooking communally.
I want to improve my mental health and I want to get physically fit and drop 30lb (15 by Christmas which I think is doable). I want to do outdoor running, hiking and to get a more lean physique.I know I can drop 30lb,as I've dropped more in the past. Most of all, I'm tired of drinking ridiculous amounts, or gorging on biscuits to make myself feel better when what I need is to pick up old habits so I can feel better all round.
So hi... Apologies for the over share... Nice to meet people and hopefully this forum will give the info and community I'm looking for.
Hello and Welcome Seb! Thanks for doing such a great intro - I wish all the best as you move forward toward being healthier and happier.
Welcome to the forum Seb! Maybe start a training log, that can be pretty motivating? Let us know how it's going!
Welcome Seb. Nice to have another committed person with us.
As Linnea suggested, a training log could help you focus on your targets.
Local lad! I'm not far away in Huddersfield. Great and honest introduction.
Well done on completing your half marathon! I've signed up to my first this year. Alcohol is a depressant and since cutting it out I've felt so much better. I think no alcohol + good vegan diet + exercise is a great way to feel good both mentally and physically. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 4,872 |
Edward Martin January 22, 2023
Many companies are currently experiencing a severe lack of available workers, so it's important that those in charge of hiring be aware of a valuable tax credit for hiring people who have been out of work for an extended period of time or who are members of other groups with significant barriers to employment. The Work Opportunity Tax Credit (WOTC) might help if your company is currently employing.
You should speak with professional accounting services in Aventura if you have any questions.
The WOTC has had its expiration date pushed back to the end of 2025, thanks to legislation that was passed in December. Employers who hire people who have been verified as members of one of ten groups with historically low employment rates are eligible for a tax break. Millions of Americans have been out of work temporarily or permanently since the pandemic began. One group being targeted is long-term unemployment recipients. These are people who have been unemployed for at least 27 weeks in a row and received unemployment benefits at some point during that time.
Persons Eligible for Employment
Many more fall into this category, such as certain veterans and those who rely on various forms of governmental assistance. Those 10 classes are as follows:
Families who qualify for TANF (Temporary Assistance for Needy Families),
Persons referred from vocational rehabilitation; people with criminal records; people living in Empowerment Zones or Rural Renewal Counties; unemployed veterans; people with disabilities
Work-study students from Empowerment Zones, people receiving food stamps or SSI, people receiving long-term family assistance, those receiving long-term jobless benefits, etc.
Eligibility for the Tax Break
The credit is available to businesses who submit a request for certification to their state's workforce agency using IRS Form 8850, Pre-screening Notice, and Certification Request for the Work Opportunity Credit (SWA). Never send this to the Internal Revenue Service.
An eligible worker has 28 days from the day they started working to file Form 8850 to the SWA. The Work Opportunity Tax Credit (WOTC) can be deducted from federal taxes by qualifying firms. Wages earned by qualified employees in their first year on the job are the primary factor. Form 5884, Work Opportunity Credit, is used to calculate the credit, and Form 3800, General Business Credit, is used to claim the credit
Previous: An Explanation of Probable Cause
Next: Tax incentives for electric vehicles (EVs) in 2022 and 2023
Five Ways Businesses Can Survive in today's Business Environment
Many business owners have been caught off guard by the pandemic and all that it has brought, and even worse, some businesses have had to close. According to Yelp, there were 97,966 permanent business closures or 60% of all closed businesses that did not reopen. Imagine you put a lot of money into something and… | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 4,248 |
Blunt blade costs more energy and causes more dangers. With two knife sharpening slots, this multipurpose knife sharpener not only sharpens blunt knives but also refines and polishes the knife edge. Besides, it can also sharpen scissors, remove scar and peels. Designed with an anti-slip pad, it will not slide on the desk, limiting the likelihood of injury. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 8,536 |
I worked in a deli in a grocery store for a couple of years. It was adjoined to the seafood department. The seafood manager was a spunky, little, elderly lady, whom I loved. Sometimes she annoyed me, though.
This didnt happen to me (THANK GOD!!!), but I was so embarrassed for my sister when she told me, I just had to share it.
During my rookie year at the fire department I was very eager to impress everyone with my firefighting skills. Being the only female at my department,it was even more important that I look "competent". | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 1,616 |
Sample Go codes
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 3,118 |
<!--
The Ohio State University Research Foundation, The University of Chicago -
Argonne National Laboratory, Emory University, SemanticBits LLC,
and Ekagra Software Technologies Ltd.
Distributed under the OSI-approved BSD 3-Clause License.
See http://ncip.github.com/cagrid-portal/LICENSE.txt for details.
-->
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<beans xmlns="http://www.springframework.org/schema/beans"
xmlns:xsi="http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema-instance"
xmlns:aop="http://www.springframework.org/schema/aop"
xmlns:util="http://www.springframework.org/schema/util"
xsi:schemaLocation="
http://www.springframework.org/schema/beans http://www.springframework.org/schema/beans/spring-beans-2.0.xsd
http://www.springframework.org/schema/aop http://www.springframework.org/schema/aop/spring-aop-2.0.xsd
http://www.springframework.org/schema/util http://www.springframework.org/schema/util/spring-util-2.0.xsd">
<bean class="org.springframework.web.servlet.handler.BeanNameUrlHandlerMapping">
<property name="interceptors">
<list>
<ref bean="openSessionInViewInterceptor"/>
</list>
</property>
</bean>
<bean name="/news.rss" class="gov.nih.nci.cagrid.portal.portlet.news.ViewRssController"
autowire="byName"/>
</beans> | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 315 |
@interface YZTextAttachment : NSTextAttachment<NSCoding>
@property (nonatomic, copy) NSString *emotionStr;//表情包
@property (nonatomic, copy) NSString *imageIdStr;//图片
@property (nonatomic, copy) NSString *mentionStr;//@
@end
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 2,335 |
Q: Gradshteyn Rational function problem I am trying this for the last few days but no way out.
can anybody show me some light on this integral?
$\int{ (Mx + N) \over(A +2Bx+Cx^2)^{p}}dx={(NB-MA)+(NC-MB)x \over(2(p-1)(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1}}+{(2p-3)(NC-MB) \over 2(p-1)(AC-B^2)} \int {dx \over (A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1} }
$
A: Right, lets start with typo corrections
\begin{eqnarray*}
\int \frac{Mx+N}{(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{\color{red}{p}}} =
\frac{(NB-MA)+(NC-MB)x}{2(p-1)(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1}}+
\end{eqnarray*}
\begin{eqnarray*}\frac{\color{red}{(2p-3)}(NC-MB)}{2(p-1)(AC-B^2)} \int\frac{dx}{(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1}}
\end{eqnarray*}
We shall show this, by differentiating the RHS and showing that it gives the integrand of the LHS.
First note that
\begin{eqnarray*}
\frac{d}{dx} \frac{1}{(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1}} = \frac{-2(p-1)(B+Cx)}{(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p}}.
\end{eqnarray*}
Differentiating the RHS gives
\begin{eqnarray*}
\frac{-(B+Cx)((NB-MA)+(NC-MB)x}{(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p}}+\frac{(NC-MB)}{2(p-1)(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1}}+\frac{(NC-MB)(2p-3)}{2(p-1)(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1}}
\end{eqnarray*}
add the second & third terms gives
\begin{eqnarray*}
\frac{-(B+Cx)((NB-MA)+(NC-MB)x)}{(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p}}+\frac{(NC-MB)(1+2p-3)}{2(p-1)(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p-1}}
\end{eqnarray*}
cancal $2(p-1)$ and multiply the top by $(A+2Bx+Cx^2)$ and add these terms gives
\begin{eqnarray*}
\frac{-(B+Cx)((NB-MA)+(NC-MB)x)+(NC-MB)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)}{(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p}}
\end{eqnarray*}
After a little algebra in the numerator & cancelling a the factor $AC-B^2$ top and bottom we have
\begin{eqnarray*}
\frac{Mx+N}{(AC-B^2)(A+2Bx+Cx^2)^{p}}
\end{eqnarray*}
precisely the integrand of the LHS, as required.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 621 |
\section{INTRODUCTION}
\label{sec:intro}
Soft-decision based decoding can be classified into two major categories of decoding algorithms \cite{lin}: Code structure-based algorithms and reliability-based algorithms or general decoding algorithms as they usually do not depend on the code structure. In the reliability-based algorithms, which is the focus of this paper, the goal is to find the closest modulated codeword to the received sequence using a metric such as likelihood function. That is, we try to maximize the likelihood in the search towards finding the transmitted sequence. Hence, this category of decoding algorithms is called maximum likelihood (ML) decoding which is known as an optimal decoding approach. Maximum likelihood decoding has been an attractive subject for decades among the researchers. Error sequence generation is one of the central problems in any ML decoding scheme.
In general, a ML decoding is prohibitively complex for most codes as it was shown to be an NP-complete problem \cite{berlekamp}. Hence, the main effort of the researchers has been concentrated on reducing the algorithm's complexity for short block-lengths. The complexity reduction has inevitably come at the cost of error correction performance degradation.
Information set decoding \cite{dorsch} and its variant, ordered statistics decoding (OSD) \cite{fossorier},
are a well-known examples of near-ML decoding algorithms. The OSD algorithm permutes the columns of the generator matrix with respect to the reliability of the symbols for every received vector and performs elementary row operations on the independent columns extracted from the permuted generator matrix resulting in the systematic form.
The recently introduced \emph{guessing random additive noise decoding} (GRAND) \cite{duffy-tit} suggests generating the error sequences in descending order of likelihood that does not require any matrix manipulation for every received vector.
The likelihood ordering of error sequences is determined accurately in soft-GRAND \cite{duffy-sgrand} and approximately in \emph{ordered reliability bits} GRAND (ORBGRAND) \cite{duffy-orbgrand,abbas-orbgrand,riaz}. The accurate ordering requires sorting a large number of metrics while the approximate scheduling of the error sequences is based on distinct integer partitioning of positive integers which is significantly less complex.
In this work, by utilizing the structure of a binary linear code,
we propose an efficient pre-processing that constrains the error sequence generation. This approach can save the codebook checking operation which seems to be more computational than the pre-processing for validation.
These syndrome-based constraints are extracted from the parity check matrix (with or without matrix manipulation) of the underlying code. The proposed approach breaks down the unconstrained search problem
into the problem of dividing the scope of search into disjoint set(s) and determining the number of errors (even or odd) in each set. We show that the size of the search space deterministically reduces by a factor of $2^p$ where $p$ is the number of constraints. The numerical results shows a similar reduction in the average number of queries. Note that the constrained error sequence generation does not degrade the error correction performance as it is just discarding the error sequences that do not result in valid codewords. The proposed approach can be applied on other GRAND variants such as soft-GRAND \cite{duffy-sgrand} and GRAND-MO \cite{an-grand-mo}
\section{PRELIMINARIES}\label{sec:prelim}
We denote by $\mathbb{F}_2$ the binary finite field with two elements. The cardinality of a set is denoted by $|\cdot|$. The interval $[a,b]$ represents the set of all integer numbers in $\{x:a\leq x\leq b\}$. The \emph{support} of a vector $\mathbf{e} = (e_1,\ldots,e_{n}) \in \mathbb{F}_2^n$ is the set of indices where $\mathbf{e}$ has a nonzero coordinate, i.e. $\supp(\mathbf{e}) \triangleq \{i \in [1,n] \colon e_i \neq 0\}$ .
The \emph{weight} of a vector $\mathbf{e} \in \mathbb{F}_2^n$ is $w(\mathbf{e})\triangleq |\supp(\mathbf{e})|$. The all-one vector $\mathbf{1}$ and all-zero vector~ $\mathbf{0}$ are defined as vectors with all identical elements of 0 or 1, respectively. The summation in $\mathbb{F}_2$ is denoted by $\oplus$.
\subsection{ML Decoding and ORBGRAND}
A binary code $\mathcal{C}$ of length $n$ and dimension $k$ maps a message of $k$ bits into a codeword $\mathbf{c}$ of $n$ bits to be transmitted over a noisy channel. The channel alters the transmitted codeword such that the receiver obtains an $n$-symbol vector~$\mathbf{r}$. A ML decoder supposedly compares $\mathbf{r}$ with all the $2^k$ modulated codewords in the codebook, and selects the one closest to $\mathbf{r}$. In other words, the ML decoder for Gaussian noise channel finds a modulated codeword $\textup{x}(\mathbf{c})$ such that
\begin{equation}
\hat{\mathbf{c}} = \underset{\mathbf{c}\in\mathcal{C}}{\text{arg max }} p(\mathbf{r}|\textup{x}(\mathbf{c}))=\underset{\mathbf{c}\in\mathcal{C}}{\text{arg min }}|\mathbf{r}-\textup{x}(\mathbf{c})|^2.
\end{equation}
This process requires checking possibly a large number of binary error sequences $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ to select the one that satisfies
\begin{equation}\label{eq:check}
\mathbf{H} \cdot (\theta(\mathbf{r})\oplus\hat{\mathbf{e}}) = \mathbf{0}
\end{equation}
where $\mathbf{H}$ is the parity check matrix of code $\mathcal{C}$ and $\theta(\mathbf{r})$ returns the hard-decision demodulation of the received vector $\mathbf{r}$.
The error sequence $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ in ORBGRAND is generated in an order suggested by {\em logistic weight} $w_L$ which is defined as \cite{duffy-orbgrand}
\begin{equation}\label{eq:w_L}
w_L(\mathbf{z})=\sum_{i=1}^n z_i\cdot i
\end{equation}
where $z_i\in\mathbb{F}_2$ is the $i$-th element of the permuted error sequence $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ in the order of the received symbols's reliability which is proportional to their magnitudes $|r_i|$. That is, the error sequence is $\hat{\mathbf{e}}=\pi_1(\mathbf{z})$ where $\pi_1(.)$ is the permutation function.
The {\em integer partitions} of positive integers from 1 to $n(n+1)/2$ with distinct parts and no parts being larger than $n$ gives the indices of the positions $i$ in the permuted error sequences $\mathbf{z}$ to be $z_i=1$.
Alternatively, a sequential method to generate error patterns was suggested based on partial ordering and a modified logistic weight in \cite{condo-grand}.
\subsection{Parity Check Matrix}
The matrix $\mathbf{H}$ represents the properties of the underlying code. These properties can be exploited to constrain the process of generating $\mathbf{z}$ in \eqref{eq:w_L} and consequently constraining $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$.
We know that the syndrome $\mathbf{s}$ for any vector $\mathbf{v}$ of length $n$ is obtained by $\mathbf{s} = \mathbf{H}\cdot\mathbf{v}$
and a valid codeword $\mathbf{c}$ gives $\mathbf{H}\cdot\mathbf{c}=\mathbf{0}$, where the syndrome is $\mathbf{s}=\mathbf{0}$. Mathematically speaking, all $\mathbf{c}^\perp\in\mathcal{C}$ form the null space for $\mathbf{H}$. Let us represent the parity check matrix as follows:
\begin{equation}
\mathbf{H} = [
\mathbf{h}_1\,
\mathbf{h}_2\,
\cdots\,
\mathbf{h}_{n-k}
]^T
\end{equation}
The $n$-element vectors $\mathbf{h}_j$ for $j\in[1,n-k]$ are the rows of the parity check matrix denoted by $\mathbf{h}_j = [h_{j,1} \; h_{j,2} \;\cdots \;h_{j,n}]$. If we define vector $\mathbf{v}=\theta(\mathbf{r})$, then we are looking for some error sequence $\hat{\mathbf{e}}=\pi_1(\mathbf{z})$ with elements $\hat{e}_i\in\mathbb{F}_2,i=1,...,n$ such that $\mathbf{H}\cdot(\mathbf{v}\oplus\hat{\mathbf{e}})=\mathbf{0}$. When $\hat{e}_i=1$, it means the $i$-th received symbol is supposed to be in error.
\subsection{Manipulation of the Parity Check Matrix}
Now we turn our focus on the manipulation of the parity check matrix so that we can use it to divide the scope of search into disjoint sets of positions.
We know that the rows $\mathbf{h}_j,j=[1,n-k]$ of the parity check matrix $\mathbf{H}$ of the code $\mathcal{C}$ form a basis for the dual code $\mathcal{C}^\perp$. That is, all $\mathbf{c}^\perp\in\mathcal{C}^\perp$ form the row space of $\mathbf{H}$ which are obtained from the linear combinations of $\mathbf{h}_1,\mathbf{h}_2, ..., \mathbf{h}_{n-k}$ in $\mathbb{F}_2$.
From the linear algebra, we know that the row space is not affected by elementary row operations on $\mathbf{H}$ (resulting in $\mathbf{H}'$), because the new system of linear equations represented in the matrix form $\mathbf{H}'\cdot\mathbf{c}=\mathbf{0}$ will have an unchanged solution set $\mathcal{C}$.
Similarly, permutation of the rows $\mathbf{h}_j$ does not have any impact on the row space of $\mathbf{H}$ as well.
\section{Constraining the Error Sequence Generation}
In this section, we first reformulate the syndrome computation, then we propose an approach to utilize the information we obtain from the syndrome $\mathbf{s}(\mathbf{0})$ for pruning the search space.
\subsection{Relative Syndrome}
Since $\mathbf{v}=[v_{1} \; v_{2} \;\cdots \;v_{n}]=\theta(\mathbf{r})$ remains unchanged for all the queries performed on every received vector $\mathbf{r}$ while the error sequence $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ changes for every query, then the syndrome $\mathbf{s}$ is a function of $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$. Given vector $\mathbf{v}\oplus\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ is used for obtaining the syndrome $\mathbf{s}=[s_{1} \; s_{2} \;\cdots \;s_{n-k}]$, we have
\begin{equation}\label{eq:synd_elements}
s_j = \bigoplus_{i=1}^{n} h_{j,i} \cdot (v_i\oplus\hat{e}_i)
\end{equation}
for every $j\in[1,n-k]$. Hence, we can relate every syndrome $\mathbf{s}$ to the corresponding error sequence $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ and denote it by $\mathbf{s}(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$. The computation of the syndrome of every $\hat{\mathbf{e}}\neq\mathbf{0}$ relative to the syndrome of all-zero error sequence $\hat{\mathbf{e}}=\mathbf{0}$, i.e., $\mathbf{s}(\mathbf{0})$, can be simplified as
\begin{equation}\label{eq:rel_synd}
s_j(\hat{\mathbf{e}}) = \big(\bigoplus_{i\in\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})} h_{j,i}\big) \oplus s_j(\mathbf{0})
\end{equation}
where the elements of $\mathbf{s}(\mathbf{0})$ are computed by
\begin{equation}\label{eq:synd_zero}
s_j(\mathbf{0}) = \bigoplus_{i=1}^{n} \big(h_{j,i} \cdot v_i\big)
\end{equation}
in the first query where $\mathbf{v}=\theta(\mathbf{r})$ in the presence of all-zero error sequence. Note that \eqref{eq:rel_synd} follows from \eqref{eq:synd_elements} through splitting it into two terms by the distributive law.
\begin{remark}
In order to get $\mathbf{s}(\hat{\mathbf{e}})=\mathbf{0}$ which is the goal of the search, according to \eqref{eq:rel_synd}, we need to find a vector $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ such that
\begin{equation}\label{eq:e_condition}
\bigoplus_{i\in\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})} h_{j,i}=|\supp(\mathbf{h}_j)\cap\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})|\text{ mod }2= s_j(\mathbf{0})\\
\end{equation}
for every $j\in[1,n-k]$.
\end{remark}
\subsection{The Location and Number of Errors}
To utilize \eqref{eq:e_condition} for pruning the search space, we form one or more disjoint sets of bit indices, denoted by $\mathcal{H}_j,j\in[1,n-k]$ where
$\mathcal{H}_j=\supp(\mathbf{h}_j)$.
Note that $\mathbf{h}_j$ could belong to the original parity check matrix $\mathbf{H}$ or the manipulated one. We discuss about how to manipulate $\mathbf{H}$ effectively later.
\begin{remark}\label{rmk:even_odd}
Observe that a general insight into the number of erroneous positions in set $\mathcal{H}_j=\supp(\mathbf{h}_j)$ is given by
\begin{equation}\label{eq:even_odd}
|\mathcal{H}_j\cap\supp(\mathbf{e})|=
\begin{dcases}
\text{odd} & s_j(\mathbf{0})=1\\
\text{even} & s_j(\mathbf{0})=0
\end{dcases}
\end{equation}
where the even number of errors includes no errors as well.
When $|\mathcal{H}_j|\!=\!n$ or $\mathbf{h}_j\!=\!\mathbf{1}$, we have $|\mathcal{H}_j\cap\supp(\mathbf{e})|\!=\!|\supp(\mathbf{e})|$. Then, the whole sequence $\mathbf{e}$ has either odd or even weight.
\end{remark}
After establishing the required notations and reformulating the background, we come to the main idea. We use the structure of matrix $\mathbf{H}$ to form sets $\mathcal{H}_j$. These sets help us to break down the problem of finding the location of errors among $n$ bit positions into the problem of finding the number of errors (even or odd) in intervals.
We consider several scenarios in the following:
The simplest case is as follows: In many codes such as polar codes, PAC codes, and extended codes by one bit, there exists a row $\mathbf{h}_j$ such that $h_{j,i}=1$ for every $i\in[1,n]$. The parity corresponding to such a row is called {\em overall parity check} bit. In this case, we have $\mathcal{H}_j=[1,n]$. Following \eqref{eq:even_odd}, we would know when we have even or odd number of errors in total. Then, we can use this relation to discard the irrelevant error sequences easily in the stage of generation.
Let us make it a bit more complicated: Pick a row $\mathbf{h}_j$ of $\mathbf{H}$ and its corresponding set $\mathcal{H}_j=\supp(\mathbf{h}_j)$ such that $\mathcal{H}_j\subset[1,n]$. In this case, we do not know whether the total number of errors is even or odd but we can obtain this insight on a specific set of bit positions, i.e., $\mathcal{H}_j$. The number of erroneous bits outside this set could be either even or odd. Implementation of $|\mathcal{H}_j\cap\,\supp(\mathbf{e})|$ could be challenging. An easy way to compute this is via a permutation $\pi_2(.)$ that converts the scattered indices in each set into consecutive indices and obtaining an interval $[L_j,U_j]$, similar to \eqref{eq:permutation_2}. Now, by counting every $i\in\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ such that $L_j\leq\pi_2(i)\leq~U_j$ or simply $\pi_2(i)>L_j-1$ for a single constraint, we can find
\begin{equation}
|\mathcal{H}_j\cap\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})| = |\{i\in\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}}):\pi_2(i)\in[L_j,U_j]\}|.
\end{equation}
Then, the generated $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ can be output if the condition in \eqref{eq:e_condition} is satisfied.
Note that a more efficient and fast way to the the aforementioned process can be implemented based on the structure of matrix $\mathbf{H}$ and a good choice of $\mathbf{h}_j$. For instance, the elements of $\mathbf{h}_j$ in polar codes' matrix $\mathbf{H}$ are already in the consecutive order.
Now, we turn our attention to multiple sets of $\mathcal{H}_j$. These sets are preferred to be disjoint, then every element in the error sequence will belong to only one interval. This makes the checking simple. An effective approach to get such sets is as follows: Pick a row $\mathbf{h}_{j_1}$ with the largest $|\supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_1})|$ and then try to find a row $\mathbf{h}_{j_2}$ such that $\supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_2}) \subset \supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_1})$. In this case, we can replace $\mathbf{h}_{j_1}$ with $\mathbf{h}_{j} = \mathbf{h}_{j_1}\oplus\mathbf{h}_{j_2}$ in order to have two disjoint sets $\mathcal{H}_{j}$ and $\mathcal{H}_{j_2}$ for constraining the search space based on \eqref{eq:e_condition}. As we will see in Section \ref{sec:analysis}, every set $\mathcal{H}_j$ used in constraining the search space reduces the size of the search space by half. This strategy can make decoding of longer codes practical. Fig. \ref{fig:split_search} illustrates how matrix manipulation can split the search space.
\begin{figure}[ht]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.7\columnwidth]{split_check.pdf}
\caption{Splitting the permuted indices into three sets that can be represented by three intervals: A sketch showing an example for $\mathcal{H}_{j_1} = \supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_1})$, $\mathcal{H}_{j_2} = \supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_2})$, $\mathcal{H}_{j_3} = \supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_3})$ where $\mathcal{H}_{j_3} \subset \mathcal{H}_{j_2} \subset \mathcal{H}_{j_1}$. The right hand side is obtained from $\mathbf{h}_{j_1}=\mathbf{h}_{j_1}\oplus\mathbf{h}_{j_2}$ and $\mathbf{h}_{j_2}=\mathbf{h}_{j_2}\oplus\mathbf{h}_{j_3}$.} \label{fig:split_search}
\vspace{-10pt}
\end{figure}
\begin{example}\label{ex:h1_subset_h2}
Suppose we have two rows of a parity check matrix and the associated syndrome bits as follows:
$$\mathbf{h}_{j_1} = [1 \; 1 \; 1 \; 1 \; 0 \; 1 \;1 \;0], \;\;s_{j_1}(\mathbf{0})=1$$
$$\mathbf{h}_{j_2} = [0 \; 1 \; 0 \; 1 \; 0 \; 0 \;1 \;0], \;\;s_{j_2}(\mathbf{0})=0$$
One can conclude from $s_{j_1}(\mathbf{0})=1$ that the error(s) could have occurred on any odd number of positions in set $\{1,2,3,4,6,7\}$, i.e., $$\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}}) \subset \{1,2,3,4,6,7\}: |\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})|\text{ mod } 2=1,$$ or any even number of positions in set $\{2,4,7\}$, however we do not have any information about positions 5 and 8 based on these two constraints.
Since $\supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_2}) \subset \supp(\mathbf{h}_{j_1})$, then we can replace $\mathbf{h}_{j_1}$ with
$$\mathbf{h}_{j}=\mathbf{h}_{j_1}\oplus\mathbf{h}_{j_2} = [1 \; 0 \; 1 \; 0 \; 0 \; 1 \;0 \;0]$$
Now, we can search among the error sequences that satisfy the following two conditions, given $s_j(\mathbf{0})=1$:
$$|\{1,3,6\}\cap\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})| \text{ mod } 2 = 1,$$
$$|\{2,4,7\}\cap\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})| \text{ mod } 2 = 0.$$
To make the intersection operation easier, we can employ the following permutation:
\begin{equation}\label{eq:permutation_2}
\pi_2:\{5,8,{\color{blue}1,3,6},{\color{red}2,4,7}\}\rightarrow\{1,2,{\color{blue}3,4,5},{\color{red}6,7,8}\}.
\end{equation}
Now, to count all $i\in\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ in $\{2,4,7\}\cap\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ or in $\{1,3,6\}\cap\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$, we just need to count every $i\in\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ where $\pi_2(i)>5$ or $\pi_2(i)>2$. Note that $i$ cannot satisfy both, then if $\pi_2(i)>5$ is true, we do not check the other.
\end{example}
\begin{remark}\label{rmk:pass_seq}
Observe that an error sequence corresponding to $\mathbf{z}$ under the single constraint $\mathbf{h}_j$ is valid if
\begin{equation}\label{eq:pass_seq2}
\mathbf{s}_j(\hat{\mathbf{e}})=\mathbf{s}_j(\pi_1(\mathbf{z}))=\bigoplus_{\substack{i\in\supp(\mathbf{z}):\\ L_j\leq \pi_2(\pi_1(i))\leq U_j}} 1 = \mathbf{s}_j(\mathbf{0}).
\end{equation}
The summation in \eqref{eq:pass_seq2} can be performed progressively as the sequences $\supp(\mathbf{z})$ differ in a limited number of elements between the parent and children sequences during generation.
\end{remark}
\subsection{Progressive Evaluation of the Constraints}
For further simplification of embedding the constraints into the error sequence generator, we can keep the partial evaluation of the left hand side of \eqref{eq:pass_seq2} for every sequence during the integer partitioning process.
Suppose we have $\mathbf{z}$ generated during integer partitioning. Then, the partial evaluation of the constraint which excludes the largest element of $\supp(\mathbf{z})$ is defined as
\begin{equation}
\mathbf{s}_j^*(\hat{\mathbf{e}})=\mathbf{s}_j^*(\pi_1(\mathbf{z}))=\bigoplus_{\substack{i\in\supp(\mathbf{z}^*):\\ L_j\leq \pi_2(\pi_1(i))\leq U_j}} 1,
\end{equation}
where $\supp(\mathbf{z}^*)=\supp(\mathbf{z})\backslash\{\max(\supp(\mathbf{z}))\}$. This partial evaluation can be used to progressively compute $\mathbf{s}_j(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ for longer $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ sequences. This can be appreciated when we recognize two main phases in the generation of the error sequences: 1) partitioning the largest element of the current sequence into two integers, 2) finding the alternative pair of integers for the result of the phase 1. These two phases are repeated until we can no longer do the partitioning in phase 1. Fig. \ref{fig:partitionig} illustrates an example showing these two phases. For every $\mathbf{z}$ corresponding to an error sequence, we keep a partial evaluation of the constraint such that we do not involve the following elements in \eqref{eq:rel_synd}: 1) The largest element subject to partitioning in the first phase, or 2) the two largest elements that we are seeking their alternatives in the second phase. This way, the computation of $\mathbf{s}_j(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ becomes simple.
To evaluate $\mathbf{s}_j(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ for every sequence $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$, the two new integers during the two phases, denoted by $i_{\ell+1}$ and $i_{\ell+2}$ where $\ell=|\supp(\mathbf{z}^*)|$, are checked to be in $[L_j,U_j]$ as follows:
\begin{equation}\footnotesize
\mathbf{s}_j(\hat{\mathbf{e}})=
\begin{dcases}
\mathbf{s}_j^*(\hat{\mathbf{e}}) & \pi_2(\pi_1(i_{\ell+1}))\text{ and }\pi_2(\pi_1(i_{\ell+2}))\in[L_j,U_j],\\
\mathbf{s}_j^*(\hat{\mathbf{e}})\oplus 1 & \pi_2(\pi_1(i_{\ell+1}))\text{ or }\pi_2(\pi_1(i_{\ell+2}))\in[L_j,U_j],\\
\mathbf{s}_j^*(\hat{\mathbf{e}}) & \text{otherwise.}
\end{dcases}
\end{equation}
\begin{figure}[ht]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.9\columnwidth]{partitioning_pdf_print.pdf}
\caption{Integer partitioning of $w_L=11$ (Example \ref{ex:partitions_w_L=11}). Red crosses and gray crosses indicate the invalidated sequences by constraint $\mathbf{h}_{j_2}$ and constraint $i>n$ for $n=8$, respectively. The sequences with identical background color use the same $\mathbf{s}^*_{j_2}(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ for computing $\mathbf{s}_{j_2}(\hat{\mathbf{e}})$ during partitioning the largest number (vertical arrows) and finding the alternatives (horizontal curved arrows). } \label{fig:int_part}
\label{fig:partitionig}
\vspace{-10pt}
\end{figure}
\begin{example}\label{ex:partitions_w_L=11}
Suppose for the code in Example \ref{ex:h1_subset_h2}, the permutation for the order of symbol reliability is $$\pi_1:\{1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8\}\rightarrow\{8,1,5,6,3,7,2,4\}$$ and $w_L=11$. We use $\mathbf{h}_{j_2}$ with $\mathbf{s}_{j_2}=0$ as a single constraint on the error sequence generation. As shown in Fig. \ref{fig:partitionig}, $\{11\}$, $\{10,1\}$, and $\{9,2\}$ are not valid as there exists $i>8$ in the sets. For the reset of the sequences, the condition in Remark \ref{rmk:pass_seq} is not satisfied (indicated with red crosses) except for two sequences checked with green ticks.
\end{example}
\section{Analysis of Reduction in Size of Search Space}\label{sec:analysis}
The size of the search space denoted by $\Omega$ is theoretically $\Omega=\sum_{\ell\in[0,n]} {n \choose \ell}=2^n$ for binary symbols if we do not put any constraints in place. However, we can find a valid codeword with a limited number of queries when we search by checking the sequences in the descending order of their likelihood.
Nevertheless, the average number of queries (computational complexity) of decoding reduces proportional to the reduction in the search space given the maximum number of queries, denoted by $b$, is large enough. Therefore, we focus on the analysis of the reduction in the search space in the presence of the constraint(s) as an equivalent analysis on the reduction in the average complexity.
To obtain the size of the constrained search space, we consider different single constraints as follows:
When there exists a row $\mathbf{h}_j=\mathbf{1}$ in $\mathbf{H}$:
In this case, we only consider the error sequences $\hat{\mathbf{e}}$ where $|\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})| \text{ mod } 2 = s_j(\mathbf{0})$.
That is, $|\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})|$ is either odd (when $s_j(\mathbf{0})=1$) or even (when $s_j(\mathbf{0})=0$), not both. Then, the size of the search space will be
\begin{equation}
\Omega(\mathbf{h}_j)=\sum_{\ell\in[0,n]:\\\ell\text{ mod } 2 = s_j(\mathbf{0})} {n \choose \ell} = \frac{2^n}{2}=2^{n-1}.
\end{equation}
Consider a row $\mathbf{h}_j\neq\mathbf{1}$ and $\mathcal{H}=\supp(\mathbf{h}_j)$:
In this case, we only consider the error sequences satisfying $|\mathcal{H}\cap\supp(\hat{\mathbf{e}})|\text{ mod }2= s_j(\mathbf{0})$. Then, the size of the constrained search space will be
\begin{equation}\label{eq:single_const}
\Omega(\mathbf{h}_j) = \sum_{\footnotesize\substack{\ell\in[0,|\mathcal{H}|]:\\ \ell\text{ mod } 2 = s_j(\mathbf{0})}} {|\mathcal{H}| \choose \ell} \cdot 2^{n-|\mathcal{H}|} = \frac{2^{|\mathcal{H}|}}{2} \cdot 2^{n-|\mathcal{H}|} = 2^{n-1}.
\end{equation}
As can be seen, the search space halves in both scenarios. However, implementation of the first scenario in the error sequence generator is quite simple with negligible computation overhead.
The following lemma generalizes the size of constrained search space by the number of constraints.
\begin{lemma}\label{lma:seach_space_size}
Suppose we have a parity check matrix $\mathbf{H}$ in which there are $p$ rows of $\mathbf{h}_{j},j=j_1,j_2,...,j_p$ with mutually disjoint index sets $\mathcal{H}_j = \supp(\mathbf{h}_{j})$, then the size of the constrained search space by these $p$ parity check equations is
\begin{equation}\label{eq:search_space_size_less_than}
\Omega(\mathbf{h}_{j_1},..,\mathbf{h}_{j_p}) = 2^{n-p}
\end{equation}
\end{lemma}
\begin{proof}
Generalizing \eqref{eq:single_const} for $p$ constraints, we hav
\begin{multline*}
\Big(\prod_{j=j_1}^{j_p}\sum_{\footnotesize\substack{\ell\in[0,|\mathcal{H}_j|]:\\\ell\text{ mod } 2 = s_{j}(\mathbf{0})}} {|\mathcal{H}_{j}| \choose \ell}\Big) \cdot 2^{n-\sum_{j=j_1}^{j_p}|\mathcal{H}_{j}|} =\\ \big(\prod_{j=j_1}^{j_p} 2^{|\mathcal{H}_j|-1}\big) \cdot 2^{n-\sum_{j=j_1}^{j_p}|\mathcal{H}_{j}|} = 2^{n-p}.
\end{multline*}\vspace{-10pt}
\end{proof}
Note that the error sequences are not evenly distributed in the search space with respect to the constraint(s). Nevertheless, when the maximum number of queries $b$ increases, by the law of large numbers, the reduction in the average queries approaches the reduction in the size of the search space.
\begin{figure
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.7\columnwidth]{eBCH_128.pdf}
\caption{Performance and average queries for eBCH(128,106) under no constraint (NoC), one constraint (1C:$\mathbf{h}_1)$, and two constraints (2C:$\mathbf{h}_1,\mathbf{h}_2)$.}
\label{fig:bler_ebch}
\vspace{-10pt}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.7\columnwidth]{PAC_64.pdf}
\caption{Performance and average queries for PAC(64,44) with precoding polynomial $[1\,0\,1\,1\,0\,1\,1]$ under no constraint (NoC), one constraint (1C:$\mathbf{h}_1)$, two constraints (2C:$\mathbf{h}_1,\mathbf{h}_4)$, and three constraints (3C:$\mathbf{h}_1,\mathbf{h}_4,,\mathbf{h}_5)$. The curve "LD, L=32" shows the BLER under List Decoding \cite{rowshan-pac1} with list size~32.}
\label{fig:bler_pac}
\vspace{-10pt}
\end{figure}
\thispagestyle{fancy}
\lhead{You may find the Python implementation of the algorithms used in this paper in \cite{code}.}
\cfoot{}
\section{NUMERICAL RESULTS} \label{sec:results}
We consider two sample codes for numerical evaluation of the proposed approach. Fig. \ref{fig:bler_ebch} and \ref{fig:bler_pac} show the block error rates (BLER) of extended BCH code (128, 106) and polarization-adjusted convolutional (PAC) \cite{arikan2} code (64, 44), respectively.
Note that $b$ is the maximum number of queries on \eqref{eq:check} while $b'$ is the maximum number of considered error sequences (including discarded ones) in the sequence generator. Observe that when no constraints are applied, then $b=b'$. For the sake of fair comparison, we take an identical maximum number of considered error sequences. That is, $b'$ for the constrained case equals $b$ of no constraints case. Fig. \ref{fig:success_query} illustrates how constraining can reduce the complexity.
Fig. \ref{fig:bler_ebch} and \ref{fig:bler_pac} illustrate that the average number of queries halves by every introduced constraint for $b=b'=10^5$ in the presence of different number of constraints ($p=1,2,3$, indicated by $p$C) while the BLERs remain unchanged. When comparing the complexity curves, note that the vertical axis is in logarithm-scale. The black dotted curves on BLER figures for $b=10^4$ and $10^6$ are only to show the relative performance with respect to $b$. In the table below, we show the average queries of three cases (without constraints, constrained by either $\mathbf{h}_1$ or $\mathbf{h}_2$, and by both $\mathbf{h}_1$ and $\mathbf{h}_2$) for the maximum queries of $b=10^5$ at different SNRs. Although we do not compare the results with a CRC-polar code with a short CRC or an improved PAC code (see \cite{rowshan-err_coef,rowshan-precoding}), they can perform close
in high SNR regime.
\begin{center}
\footnotesize
\begin{tabular}{|c||c|c|c|c|c|c|}
\hline
$E_b/N_0$ [dB] & 3 & 3.5 & 4 & 4.5 & 5 & 5.5 \\
\hline\hline
No Constraints & 35686 & 16838 & 6430 & 1949 & 461 & 106 \\
\hline
Single: $\mathbf{h}_1 \text{ or } \mathbf{h}_2$ & 16183 & 8654 & 3205 & 994 & 231 & 51 \\
\hline
Double: $\mathbf{h}_1 \text{ and } \mathbf{h}_2$ & 8091 & 4327 & 1602 & 497 & 115 & 26 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
As can be seen, the average queries is reduced by a factor of two after adding every constraint. At lower maximum queries, $b<10^5$, we observe slightly less reduction. For instance, when $b=10^4$, the average queries at $E_b/N_0=5$ for these three constraint cases are 205, 144, and 102, respectively.
Note that the rows $\mathbf{h}_{1}$ and $\mathbf{h}_{2}$ in $\mathbf{H}$ matrix for eBCH code (128, 106) satisfy the relationship $\supp(\mathbf{h}_{2})\subset\supp(\mathbf{h}_{1})$ where $\mathbf{h}_2=\mathbf{1}$ and $|\mathbf{h}_1|/2=|\mathbf{h}_2|=64$. Hence, for two constraints, we modify $\mathbf{h}_1$ by $\mathbf{h}_1=\mathbf{h}_1\oplus\mathbf{h}_2$. Similarly, the rows $\mathbf{h}_{1}$, $\mathbf{h}_{4}$, and $\mathbf{h}_{5}$ in $\mathbf{H}$ matrix for PAC code (64, 44) satisfy the relationship $\supp(\mathbf{h}_{5})\subset\supp(\mathbf{h}_{4})\subset\supp(\mathbf{h}_{1})$ where $\mathbf{h}_1=\mathbf{1}$ and $|\mathbf{h}_1|/2=|\mathbf{h}_4|=2|\mathbf{h}_5|=32$.
\section{CONCLUSION}
In this paper,
we propose an approach to constrain the error sequence generator by a single or multiple constraints extracted from the parity check matrix (with or without matrix manipulation) of the underlying codes. We further present how to progressively evaluate the constraints for the error sequences during the generation process. The theoretical analysis shows that the search space reduces by factor of 2 after introducing every constraint. The numerical results support this theory when the maximum number of queries is relatively large. To have a negligible computational overhead, it is suggested to use only one constraint preferably with codes which have an overall parity check bit such as polar codes and their variants and extended codes by one bit. This single constraint suffices to halve the complexity. The proposed method can be applied on other GRAND variants as well
\begin{figure
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.65\columnwidth]{success_query.pdf}
\caption{Reducing complexity : An example showing a stack of candidate codewords sorted with respect to likelihood (the codeword at the top has the highest likelihood). By removing the invalid codewords, we can reach to the first valid codeword faster before reaching the abandonment threshold $b=8$.}
\label{fig:success_query}
\vspace{-10pt}
\end{figure}
\addtolength{\textheight}{-12cm}
\newpage
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 3,122 |
After Botched Army Operation & Protests, Govt Extents AFSPA In Nagaland For 6 Months
3 min read 59 Shares
Shweta SengarUpdated on Dec 30, 2021, 12:18 IST
Amid protests after a botched Army operation in Nagaland's Oting, the Centre has declared the entire Nagaland as a "disturbed area" for six more months with effect from December 30 under the AFSPAThe move came days after the Union government constituted a high-level committee to examine the possibility of the withdrawal of the controversial Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act from NagalandThe AFSPA has been operational in Nagaland for decades
Amid protests after a botched Army operation in Nagaland's Oting, the Centre has declared the entire Nagaland as a "disturbed area" for six more months with effect from December 30 under the AFSPA while terming the state's condition "disturbed and dangerous".
The move came days after the Union government constituted a high-level committee to examine the possibility of the withdrawal of the controversial Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act from Nagaland.
The AFSPA has been operational in Nagaland for decades.
"Whereas the Central government is of the opinion that the area comprising the whole of the State of Nagaland is in such a disturbed and dangerous condition that the use of armed forces in aid of the civil power is necessary.
"Now, therefore, in the exercise of the powers conferred by Section 3 of the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, 1958 (No.28 of 1958) the Central Government hereby declares that whole of the State of Nagaland to be 'disturbed area' for a period of six months with effect from December 30, 2021, for the purpose of the said Act," a home ministry notification said.
Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act 1958 (AFSPA) extended in Nagaland for six more months with effect from today. pic.twitter.com/Vkw3fPGeJK
The notification was issued by the additional secretary in the Home Ministry, Piyush Goyal, who has been named the member secretary in the panel to examine the possibility of the withdrawal of the AFSPA. The committee is headed by secretary-level officer Vivek Joshi.
The high-level committee has been set up apparently to soothe the rising tension in Nagaland over the killing of 14 civilians.
Protests for the withdrawal of the AFSPA have been going on in several districts of Nagaland ever since an Army unit killed 14 civilians in the state's Mon district earlier this month, mistaking them as insurgents.
The AFSPA empowers security forces to conduct operations and arrest anyone without any prior warrant. It also gives immunity to the forces if they shoot someone dead.
For more on news and current affairs from around the world please visit Indiatimes News.
Mughal Gardens At Rashtrapati Bhavan Renamed As Amrit Udyan By Central Government
Here's What's Happening With Adani Group Companies After Hindenburg Report
Married Couple Who Are Parents To 4-Month-Old Baby Hit By Mass Layoffs At Google | {
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AAAS Board Resolution on Intelligent Design Theory
he contemporary theory of biological evolution is one of the most robust products of scientific inquiry. It is the foundation for research in many areas of biology as well as an essential element of science education. To become informed and responsible citizens in our contemporary technological world, students need to study the theories and empirical evidence central to current scientific understanding.
Over the past several years proponents of so-called "intelligent design theory," also known as ID, have challenged the accepted scientific theory of biological evolution. As part of this effort they have sought to introduce the teaching of "intelligent design theory" into the science curricula of the public schools. The movement presents "intelligent design theory" to the public as a theoretical innovation, supported by scientific evidence, that offers a more adequate explanation for the origin of the diversity of living organisms than the current scientifically accepted theory of evolution. In response to this effort, individual scientists and philosophers of science have provided substantive critiques of "intelligent design," demonstrating significant conceptual flaws in its formulation, a lack of credible scientific evidence, and misrepresentations of scientific facts.
Recognizing that the "intelligent design theory" represents a challenge to the quality of science education, the Board of Directors of the AAAS unanimously adopts the following resolution:
Whereas, ID proponents claim that contemporary evolutionary theory is incapable of explaining the origin of the diversity of living organisms;
Whereas, to date, the ID movement has failed to offer credible scientific evidence to support their claim that ID undermines the current scientifically accepted theory of evolution;
Whereas, the ID movement has not proposed a scientific means of testing its claims;
Therefore Be It Resolved, that the lack of scientific warrant for so-called "intelligent design theory" makes it improper to include as a part of science education;
Therefore Be Further It Resolved, that AAAS urges citizens across the nation to oppose the establishment of policies that would permit the teaching of "intelligent design theory" as a part of the science curricula of the public schools;
Therefore Be It Further Resolved, that AAAS calls upon its members to assist those engaged in overseeing science education policy to understand the nature of science, the content of contemporary evolutionary theory and the inappropriateness of "intelligent design theory" as subject matter for science education;
Therefore Be Further It Resolved, that AAAS encourages its affiliated societies to endorse this resolution and to communicate their support to appropriate parties at the federal, state and local levels of the government.
Approved by the AAAS Board of Directors on 10/18/02
Life sciences/Evolutionary biology/Evolutionary theories
Scientific community/Education/Science education/Science curricula
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Scientific community/Education/Educational methods/Teaching
Social sciences/Political science/Government/Public policy/Science policy/Academic policy
Social sciences/Philosophy/Science philosophy/Pseudoscience/Intelligent design
Scientific community/Education/Educational assessment/Educational testing
Scientific community/Scientific organizations
Social sciences/Communications | {
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Last month was my first Digital Summit experience in Phoenix. DSPHX was an event of firsts for me: meeting the force of nature that is Beverly Jackson plus the legend and co-founder of Apple Steve Wozniak. I also had a chance to see several really impressive speakers for the first time including Mack Fogelson and Eric Yale. I was impressed!
I can imagine Digital Summit Los Angeles being a great experience too.
The speaker list for DSLA is an amazing collection of thought leaders including Woz and Beverly, industry experts like Michael King, Jim Boykin and Michael Barber and a huge group brand and publisher speakers from companies that include: Facebook, Google, LinkedIn, Pinterest, Adobe, Forbes, IBM, The Economist, BET Network, Inc Magazine, Wells Fargo, GE Digital, BMC Software, BusinessWire and MIT.
Over more than 40 sessions, the topics covered include everything from data informed marketing to visual storytelling and purpose driven marketing to content marketing with influencers.
Of course, I'm a fan of that last topic since it is what the focus of my closing keynote presentation will be about: How to Supercharge Your Content with Influencer Marketing.
Confluence rules. Content Marketing with Influencers is an area of deep focus for me that I've been experimenting with for many years and that our agency has been implementing for clients that range from a $180Bn Fortune 5 company to mid-market companies like ClickSoftware to small companies like Pandora Mall of America.
The fundamental message of my keynote presentation is that marketing with content is harder than ever and if your company doesn't do something to break through information overload and distrust of brand content, you'll lose the ability to attract and engage customers.
The solution is a content marketing framework for strategically engaging with influencers to increase content quality, quantity, reach and engagement across the customer journey. At the same time, I'll talk about how to build relationships with internal, industry and community influencers to increase advocacy.
To back up the best practices, I'll share trends and insights our influencer marketing research that we partnered with Influencer Relationships Marketing platform, Traackr, on. Brian Solis of Altimeter analyzed the findings and wrote up an impressive research report, Influence 2.0: The Future of Influencer Marketing that attendees will be able to see.
The Influence 2.0 report delivers crucial findings and covers important insights about the maturity of influencer marketing within large enterprise companies, budgets, top goals and areas within the organization that are most impacted. Brian also shares the intersection of influencer relations with customer experience and digital transformation. If that wasn't enough, he includes a 10 step framework for implementing an influence 2.0 approach.
My keynotes are "inspractical" = Inspiration + Tactical. Overall, I'll touch on the best parts of the research report, include trends, best practices and share successful B2B and B2C examples of influencer driven programs to inspire attendees going forward.
If you're a marketer in Southern California, this is a can't miss event!
Registration, Agenda, Speakers and full conference information here.
The post Supercharge Your Marketing at Digital Summit Los Angeles #DSLA appeared first on Online Marketing Blog – TopRank®. | {
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Carriera professionistica
San Diego Chargers
Hardwwick fu scelto nel corso del terzo giro del Draft 2004 dai San Diego Chargers. Nella sua stagione da rookie disputò 14 gare, tutte come titolare. Nella stagione 2006 per la prima volta disputò tutte le 16 gare come titolare e a fine anno fu convocato per il suo primo Pro Bowl. Dopo che un infortunio gli fece disputare solamente 3 partite nella stagione 2009, nelle tre annate successive Nick non saltò una sola partita come titolare.
Vittorie e premi
Pro Bowl (2006)
Formazione ideale del 50º anniversario dei San Diego Chargers
Statistiche
Statistiche aggiornate alla stagione 2012
Note
Altri progetti
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Tracey Hannah (ur. 13 czerwca 1988 w Bentley Park) − australijska kolarka górska, wielokrotna medalistka mistrzostw świata.
Kariera
Pierwszy sukcesy w karierze Tracey Hannah osiągnęła w 2006 roku, kiedy zwyciężyła wśród juniorek podczas mistrzostw świata w Rotorua. Na rozgrywanych rok później mistrzostwach świata w Fort William była trzecia wśród seniorek. W zawodach tych wyprzedziły ją jedynie Francuzka Sabrina Jonnier oraz Brytyjka Rachel Atherton. Ponadto w 2007 roku Hannah zajęła trzecie miejsce w klasyfikacji downhillu w Pucharze Świata w kolarstwie górskim. Lepsze okazały się tylko Sabrina Jonnier i Tracy Moseley z Wielkiej Brytanii. Kolejny medal zdobyła na mistrzostwach świata w Pietermaritzburgu w 2013 roku, gdzie w swojej koronnej konkurencji ponownie była trzecia. Tym razem wyprzedziły ją: Rachel Atherton i Francuzka Emmeline Ragot. Wynik ten powtórzyła także na MŚ w Vallnord (2015) oraz MŚ w Val di Sole (2016).
Bibliografia
Profil na cyclingarchives.com
Australijscy kolarze górscy
Urodzeni w 1988 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,043 |
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Analysis Interpretation of the news based on evidence, including data, as well as anticipating how events might unfold based on past events
The Energy 202: EPA blocks a dozen products containing pesticides thought harmful to bees
By Dino Grandoni
Dino Grandoni
Reporter covering energy and environmental policy
A volunteer checks honeybee hives for queen activity as part of a collaboration between the Cincinnati Zoo and TwoHoneys Bee Co., in Mason, Ohio. (AP Photo/John Minchillo, File)
The Environmental Protection Agency is pulling from the market a dozen products containing pesticides known to be toxic to a linchpin of the U.S. food system — the honeybee.
The agency announced Monday it has canceled the registrations of 12 pest-killing products with compounds belonging to a class of chemicals known as neonicotinoids, as part of a legal settlement.
For years, beekeepers and wildlife conversationalists alike have voiced concern that the widespread use of neonics, as the chemicals are commonly called, is imperiling wild and domesticated bees crucial to pollinating commercial fruit, nut and vegetable crops.
The Trump administration's action was welcome news to some environmentalists. "Certainly we have a ways to go," said George Kimbrell, legal director at the nonprofit advocacy group Center for Food Safety, whose lawsuit prompted the EPA's action. "But it's an important first step in acknowledging the harm they cause."
The EPA has pulled other neonics from market before, agency spokesman John Konkus said in an email. But close observers of the agency say such actions are rare.
"For the EPA to pull a previously registered pesticide is a pretty major step," said Mark Winston, a professor of apiculture and social insects at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, B.C. "It's not something they do very often."
The decision follows five years of litigation in which the beekeepers and environmentalists pressed the agency to mount a response to the use of neonics as regulators in Europe and Canada have taken steps toward banning the chemicals.
Finally, at the end of 2018, three agribusinesses — Bayer, Syngenta and Valent — agreed to let the EPA pull from shelves the 12 pesticide products used by growers ranging from large-scale agricultural businesses to home gardeners. The legal settlement also compels the EPA to analyze the impacts of the entire neonic class on endangered species.
Two of the pesticide makers, Bayer and Valent, say their products are tested and safe to use, noting that the environmentalists and beekeepers won their case on the technical grounds that the EPA did not follow the right steps under the Endangered Species Act when registering their products.
"Neonicotinoids are rigorously tested before going to market to ensure they can be used safely and effectively," said Steve Tatum, a spokesman for Valent, which makes four of the delisted products.
Bayer noted its two products targeted by the EPA action are not sold in the United States. But spokesman Darren Wallis added: "Growers rely on these critical pest-management tools because of their performance against destructive pests, as well as their favorable human and environmental safety profile."
Concern over neonics has grown since 2006, when beekeepers first started witnessing the sudden and mysterious collapse of honeybee hives across the nation.
Researchers have shown the compounds to be harmful to bees in laboratory tests. But they have had less luck pinning down the pesticides' effects on beekeepers' colonies when they go about their work pollinating apple orchards and other farms.
In his second term Barack Obama, who had earlier approved installing a beehive on the South Lawn of the White House, launched an initiative to promote the health of honeybees and other pollinators.
But Rebecca Riley, legal director of the nature program at the Natural Resources Defense Council, said that the agency has failed often in the past to adequately consider the potential impact of its pesticide approvals on endangered animals — something every federal agency is supposed to do.
"EPA for years has been ignoring this requirement of the law," she said.
That has led to a number of lawsuits, such as one the NRDC filed in 2017, asking a federal court to vacate the registrations of nearly 100 products that contain one of several insecticides that are harmful to various bees, butterflies, birds and insects. That case remains unresolved, even as the separate Center for Food Safety case led EPA to pull some pesticides from the market.
"This is a win for both the rule of law and also for bees, birds and other wildlife impacted by these pesticides," Riley said of the latest case. "But the reality is there are hundreds of pesticide products on the market. So, this is important … but it does not get rid of the danger."
Brady Dennis contributed to this report.
You are reading The Energy 202, our must-read tipsheet on energy and the environment.
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— EPA doesn't send rep to hearing: Rep. Diana DeGette (D-Colo.), chair of the House Energy and Commerce subcommittee on oversight and investigations, criticized the Environmental Protection Agency for failing to send a representative to testify during a hearing about a Trump administration proposal to roll back Obama-era mercury regulations. "I am continually frustrated and surprised by the administration's refusal to send witnesses to Congress," she said. "And the EPA's refusal to show up today is just another example of the efforts to block Congress from performing its oversight functions. And so we're going to have to move forward, but it would be really helpful if we had the agencies here to help us."
— Nominee for top Interior Dept. lawyer advances: The Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee advanced the president's pick to be the Interior Department solicitor, Daniel Jorjani, on a party-line vote. Jorjani advanced despite objections from Democrats including Sen. Joe Manchin (D-W.Va.), who criticized the nominee during Tuesday's panel meeting. "It concerns me Mr. Jorjani has spent the past two years he served as acting solicitor overturning prior interpretations of our public lands laws in a manner that is out of step with the congressional intent," Manchin said in a statement. "The Solicitor must uphold the law above all else—above party, politics, and ideology. That was not the sense I got from Mr. Jorjani's responses to our questions."
— Texas bill could penalize pipeline protesters: Under a new bill approved by both chambers in Texas's state legislature, protesters who are found to have delayed pipeline operations or otherwise damaged equipment could face up to a decade in prison. "The Texas Oil & Gas Association applauded its passage and said the bill provides property owners and pipeline companies 'greater protections against intentional damage, delays, and stoppages caused by illegal activity,'" Bloomberg News reports. "Environmental groups, meanwhile, called the measure an assault on free speech." Cyrus Reed, interim director for the Sierra Club's Texas chapter, said the bill is about "silencing protesters trying to protect their water and land."
Farmworkers harvest a corn crop in Tulare, Calif. (Mark Ralston/AFP/Getty Images)
— "Flint is everywhere here": California's low-income farmworkers who pick crops in the state's Central Valley are experiencing a water crisis that is affecting more than 1 million Californians. "Today, more than 300 public water systems in California serve unsafe drinking water, according to public compliance data compiled by the California State Water Resources Control Board," the New York Times reports. "Though water contamination is a problem up and down the state, the failing systems are most heavily concentrated in small towns and unincorporated communities in the Central and Salinas Valleys, the key centers of California agriculture."
(iStock)
— The reality of plastic pollution: A new study found there are about 414 million pieces of debris scattered across the remote Cocos Islands of Australia, which could be an underestimate because a lot of the waste is below the surface, NBC News reports. The findings could suggest the amount of plastic polluting the world could be much more than previously realized. "The scientists surveyed seven of the 27 islands, which made up 88 percent of the total landmass of the islands, and estimated that they were littered with 262 tons of plastic. A quarter of those pieces of debris were single-use or disposable items such as straws, bags and toothbrushes (about 373,000 of them). The researchers also identified about 977,000 shoes," per the report.
— A wild spring storm: A powerful spring system drove a variety of extreme weather throughout the country on Monday and Tuesday, with serious flooding and more than 20 tornadoes blasting through the Southern Plains, The Post's Jason Samenow reports. "Flash flooding proved to be more of a widespread hazard than the tornadoes," he writes. "Flooding spread from the north and west sides of Oklahoma City northeast to Tulsa, where four to eight inches of rain fell in a short time. Roads were closed, and numerous high-water rescues were required."
OIL CHECK
A BP logo is seen at a gas station in London. (Luke MacGregor/Reuters)
— BP investors vote to back climate proposal: Investors in the oil giant voted overwhelmingly in favor of calling on the company to report how its business is compatible with the Paris climate deal. "From next year, BP is set to bring its reports into line with the approved resolution, which was proposed by a group called Climate Action 100 ," Bloomberg News reports. "Climate Action 100 , whose members together manage more than $33 trillion of funds, has already persuaded Europe's biggest oil company, Royal Dutch Shell Plc, to adopt short-term climate targets and convinced Glencore Plc to cut coal production."
The House Natural Resources Subcommittee on National Parks, Forests and Public Lands holds a legislative hearing.
The House Transportation and Infrastructure Subcommittee on Economic Development, Public Buildings, and Emergency Management holds a hearing on disaster preparedness.
Senate Committee on Environment and Public Works will hold a legislative hearing on legislation to address risks associated with PFAS.
Rep. Paul D. Tonko (D-N.Y.) will hold a Climate Town Hall at Hudson Valley Community College in Troy, N.Y. on May 28.
EXTRA MILEAGE
— A great white sign: The ocean life research group Ocearch announced that for the first time, it's tracking a white shark in Long Island Sound, a sign of "cleaner waters full of the sea life that drew him in the first place," The Post's Alex Horton writes. "Chris Fischer, the group's founding chairman and expedition leader, said the group was surprised to see Cabot so far west, CBS News reported, and speculated his presence was linked to environmental efforts to clean up the sound."
Be advised! For the first time ever, we are tracking a white shark in the Long Island Sound. 9' 8" @GWSharkCabot is just off the shore near Greenwich. Follow him using the browser on any device at https://t.co/paqCMWe00M pic.twitter.com/td8e5eZUUY
— OCEARCH (@OCEARCH) May 20, 2019 | {
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Q: RedirectToAction is Taking Too much Time in Production? I am Trying to redirect from one Controller Action to other controller Index Method.the redirection itself taking 20sec. how can i reduce the time its consuming? Actually it is a direct call it should not consume that much of time?
Is there any other way to Redirect?
here is my code
public ActionResult LaunchSeletedService(int serviceId)
{
//some fuctionality
if (Request.IsAjaxRequest())
{
return new JavaScriptResult() { Script = "document.location.replace('" + Url.Action("Index", "Home", new { area = Area }) + "');" };
//return RedirectToAction("Index", "Home", new { area = Area });
}
else
{
return RedirectToAction("Index", "Home", new { area = Area });
}
}
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{"url":"http:\/\/llvm.org\/doxygen\/classllvm_1_1cflaa_1_1StratifiedSetsBuilder.html","text":"LLVM \u00a09.0.0svn\nllvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T > Class Template Reference\n\nGeneric Builder class that produces StratifiedSets instances. More...\n\n#include \"Analysis\/StratifiedSets.h\"\n\n## Public Member Functions\n\nStratifiedSets< Tbuild ()\nBuilds a StratifiedSet from the information we've been given since either construction or the prior build() call. More...\n\nbool\u00a0has (const T &Elem) const\n\nRestructures the stratified sets as necessary to make \"ToAdd\" in a set above \"Main\". More...\n\nRestructures the stratified sets as necessary to make \"ToAdd\" in a set below \"Main\". More...\n\nvoid\u00a0noteAttributes (const T &Main, AliasAttrs NewAttrs)\n\n## Detailed Description\n\n### template<typename T> class llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >\n\nGeneric Builder class that produces StratifiedSets instances.\n\nThe goal of this builder is to efficiently produce correct StratifiedSets instances. To this end, we use a few tricks:\n\nSet chains (A method for linking sets together) Set remaps (A method for marking a set as an alias [irony?] of another)\n\n==== Set chains ==== This builder has a notion of some value A being above, below, or with some other value B:\n\nThe A above B relationship implies that there is a reference edge\n\ngoing from A to B. Namely, it notes that A can store anything in B's set.\n\nThe A below B relationship is the opposite of A above B. It implies\n\nthat there's a dereference edge going from A to B.\n\nThe A with B relationship states that there's an assignment edge going\n\nfrom A to B, and that A and B should be treated as equals.\n\nAs an example, take the following code snippet:\n\na = alloca i32, align 4 ap = alloca i32*, align 8 app = alloca i32**, align 8 store a, ap store ap, app aw = getelementptr ap, i32 0\n\nGiven this, the following relations exist:\n\n\u2022 a below ap & ap above a\n\u2022 ap below app & app above ap\n\u2022 aw with ap & ap with aw\n\nThese relations produce the following sets: [{a}, {ap, aw}, {app}]\n\n...Which state that the only MayAlias relationship in the above program is between ap and aw.\n\nBecause LLVM allows arbitrary casts, code like the following needs to be supported: ip = alloca i64, align 8 ipp = alloca i64*, align 8 i = bitcast i64** ipp to i64 store i64* ip, i64** ipp store i64 i, i64* ip\n\nWhich, because ipp ends up both above and below ip, is fun.\n\nThis is solved by merging i and ipp into a single set (...which is the only way to solve this, since their bit patterns are equivalent). Any sets that ended up in between i and ipp at the time of merging (in this case, the set containing ip) also get conservatively merged into the set of i and ipp. In short, the resulting StratifiedSet from the above code would be {ip, ipp, i}.\n\n==== Set remaps ==== More of an implementation detail than anything \u2013 when merging sets, we need to update the numbers of all of the elements mapped to those sets. Rather than doing this at each merge, we note in the BuilderLink structure that a remap has occurred, and use this information so we can defer renumbering set elements until build time.\n\nDefinition at line 174 of file StratifiedSets.h.\n\n## Member Function Documentation\n\ntemplate<typename T>\n bool llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >::add ( const T & Main )\ninline\n\ntemplate<typename T>\n bool llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >::addAbove ( const T & Main, const T & ToAdd )\ninline\n\nRestructures the stratified sets as necessary to make \"ToAdd\" in a set above \"Main\".\n\nThere are some cases where this is not possible (see above), so we merge them such that ToAdd and Main are in the same set.\n\nDefinition at line 357 of file StratifiedSets.h.\n\nReferences assert(), and llvm::cflaa::StratifiedInfo::Index.\n\ntemplate<typename T>\n bool llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >::addBelow ( const T & Main, const T & ToAdd )\ninline\n\nRestructures the stratified sets as necessary to make \"ToAdd\" in a set below \"Main\".\n\nThere are some cases where this is not possible (see above), so we merge them such that ToAdd and Main are in the same set.\n\nDefinition at line 370 of file StratifiedSets.h.\n\nReferences assert(), and llvm::cflaa::StratifiedInfo::Index.\n\nReferenced by llvm::CFLSteensAAResult::FunctionInfo::FunctionInfo().\n\ntemplate<typename T>\n bool llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >::addWith ( const T & Main, const T & ToAdd )\ninline\n\nDefinition at line 380 of file StratifiedSets.h.\n\nReferences assert().\n\nReferenced by llvm::CFLSteensAAResult::FunctionInfo::FunctionInfo().\n\n## \u25c6\u00a0build()\n\ntemplate<typename T>\n StratifiedSets llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >::build ( )\ninline\n\nBuilds a StratifiedSet from the information we've been given since either construction or the prior build() call.\n\nDefinition at line 336 of file StratifiedSets.h.\n\nReferenced by llvm::CFLSteensAAResult::FunctionInfo::FunctionInfo().\n\n## \u25c6\u00a0has()\n\ntemplate<typename T>\n bool llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >::has ( const T & Elem ) const\ninline\n\nDefinition at line 344 of file StratifiedSets.h.\n\n## \u25c6\u00a0noteAttributes()\n\ntemplate<typename T>\n void llvm::cflaa::StratifiedSetsBuilder< T >::noteAttributes ( const T & Main, AliasAttrs NewAttrs )\ninline\n\nThe documentation for this class was generated from the following file:","date":"2019-01-19 20:34:57","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.3787103593349457, \"perplexity\": 8516.022817630965}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2019-04\/segments\/1547583681597.51\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20190119201117-20190119223117-00172.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
/*
* ControllerProperty.hh
*
* Created on: Mar 4, 2012
* Author: scaille
*/
#ifndef CONTROLLERPROPERTY_HH_
#define CONTROLLERPROPERTY_HH_
#include "binding_interface.hh"
#include "typed_property.hh"
#include "binding_chain.hh"
namespace ch_skymarshall::gui {
using namespace std::placeholders;
/**
* Property intended to be used with a controller.<p>
* Basically includes an error property.
*/
template<class _Pt> class controller_property: public typed_property<_Pt> {
private:
_Pt m_value;
shared_ptr<error_notifier> m_errorNotifier;
public:
controller_property(const string_view &_name, property_manager &_manager,
_Pt _defaultValue, shared_ptr<error_notifier> _errorNotifier) :
typed_property<_Pt>(_name, _manager, _defaultValue), m_errorNotifier(
_errorNotifier) {
}
template<class _Cst> shared_ptr<end_of_chain<_Pt, _Cst>> bind(
shared_ptr<binding_converter<_Pt, _Cst>> const _converter) {
return binding_chain<_Pt>::of(*this, m_errorNotifier)->bind_property(
std::bind(&controller_property::set, this, _1, _2))->bind(
_converter);
}
template<class _Cst> shared_ptr<binding_chain_controller> bind(
shared_ptr<component_binding<_Cst>> const _componentBinding) {
return binding_chain<_Pt>::of(*this, m_errorNotifier)->bind_property(
std::bind(&controller_property::set, this, _1, _2))->bind(
_componentBinding);
}
~controller_property() override = default;
};
}
#endif /* CONTROLLERPROPERTY_HH_ */
| {
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Q: TSQL while loop UPDATE Houses
SET lStatus = U.codesum
FROM Houses H
JOIN (SELECT ref, SUM(code) AS codesum
FROM Users
GROUP BY ref) AS U ON U.ref = H.ref
The above code gets all users for every house (Houses table). SUMs the code column (Users table) for all users. And finally updates the result in lstatus column of the houses table.
My question is:
I need to rewrite the query which is NOT to sum the code column. Rather I want to create case statements. for example:
tempvar = 0 //local variable might be required
For each user {
If code == 1 then tempvar += 5
else if code == 2 then tempvar += 10
etc
tempvar = 0;
}
Once we have looped through all the users for each house we can now set lStatus = tempvar.
The tempvar should then be reset to 0 for the next house.
A: You should try to avoid loops and other procedural constructs when coding SQL. A relational database can't easily optimize such things and they often perform orders of magnitude slower than their declarative counterparts. In this case, it seems simple enough to replace your SUM(code) with the CASE statement that you describe:
UPDATE Houses
SET lStatus = U.codesum
FROM Houses H
JOIN (SELECT ref, SUM(CASE code WHEN 1 THEN 5 WHEN 2 THEN 10 ELSE 0 END) AS codesum
FROM Users
GROUP BY ref) AS U ON U.ref = H.ref
In this way, SUM can still handle the duty that you imagine your temp variable would be doing.
Also, if you have many cases, you might think about putting those in a table and simply joining on that to get your sum. This might be better to maintain. I'm using a table variable here, but it could look like the following:
DECLARE @codes TABLE (
code INT NOT NULL PRIMARY KEY,
value INT NOT NULL
)
INSERT INTO @codes SELECT 1, 5
INSERT INTO @codes SELECT 2, 10
UPDATE Houses
SET lStatus = U.codesum
FROM Houses H
JOIN (SELECT a.ref, SUM(b.value) AS codesum
FROM Users a
JOIN @codes b on a.code = b.code -- Here we get the values dynamically
GROUP BY a.ref) AS U ON U.ref = H.ref
A: Try this:
UPDATE Houses
SET lStatus = U.codesum
FROM Houses H
JOIN (
SELECT ref, SUM(
CASE
WHEN Code = 1
THEN 5
WHEN Code = 2
THEN 10
END
) AS codesum
FROM Users
GROUP BY ref
) AS U ON U.ref = H.ref
A: Try this :
UPDATE Houses
SET lStatus = U.code
FROM Houses H
JOIN (
SELECT ref, SUM(
CASE
WHEN Code = 1
THEN 5
WHEN Code = 2
THEN 10
ELSE 0
END
) AS code
FROM Users
GROUP BY ref
) AS U ON U.ref = H.ref
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,533 |
Q: How can I resolve this error and install vue.js in docker I'm trying to install vue.js in docker. However it comes with an error and I am completely stuck at this point. Please help me solving this issue.
I've already prepared DockerFile and docker-compose.yml.
docker-compose.yml:
version: '3.8'
services:
app:
build: .
container_name: vue-curriculum
ports:
- '8880:8880'
volumes:
- ./app:/app
tty: true
Dockerfile:
FROM node:15.11.0-alpine
WORKDIR /app
RUN yarn global add @vue/cli
Process:
docker-compose up -d # could make a container
docker container exec -it [container name] sh
vue create .
Here comes an error...
Vue CLI v5.0.8
? Generate project in current directory? Yes
Vue CLI v5.0.8
? Please pick a preset: Default ([Vue 2] babel, eslint)
? Pick the package manager to use when installing dependencies: Yarn
Vue CLI v5.0.8
✨ Creating project in /app.
⚙️ Installing CLI plugins. This might take a while...
yarn install v1.22.5
info No lockfile found.
[1/4] Resolving packages...
[2/4] Fetching packages...
error jest-worker@28.1.3: The engine "node" is incompatible with this module. Expected version "^12.13.0 || ^14.15.0 || ^16.10.0 || >=17.0.0". Got "15.11.0"
error Found incompatible module.
info Visit https://yarnpkg.com/en/docs/cli/install for documentation about this command.
ERROR Error: command failed: yarn
Error: command failed: yarn
at ChildProcess.<anonymous> (/usr/local/share/.config/yarn/global/node_modules/@vue/cli/lib/util/executeCommand.js:138:16)
at ChildProcess.emit (node:events:378:20)
at maybeClose (node:internal/child_process:1067:16)
at Process.ChildProcess._handle.onexit (node:internal/child_process:301:5)
/app #
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
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{"url":"http:\/\/www.ck12.org\/concept\/Absolute-Value-of-Integers-Grade-7\/?eid=None&ref=None","text":"<meta http-equiv=\"refresh\" content=\"1; url=\/nojavascript\/\">\n\n# Absolute Value of Integers\n\n%\nProgress\nPractice Absolute Value of Integers\nProgress\n%\nAbsolute Value of Integers\n\nDo you live where it snows? How much snow has ever accumulated in 24 hours where you live?\n\nCameron is amazed at the record snowfall in Alaska. One time, the day began without any snow on the ground. Then it began to snow and within 24 hours there was 62 inches of snow.\n\nWe can use an integer to write the increase in snowfall, and we can use absolute value to show the distance between the depth of snow and the bare ground.\n\nDo you know how to do this?\n\nUnderstanding absolute value is the goal of this Concept. Pay attention and we will revisit this situation at the end of it.\n\n### Guidance\n\nSometimes, when we look at an integer, we aren\u2019t concerned with whether it is positive or negative, but we are interested in how far that number is from zero. Think about water. You might not be concerned about whether the depth of a treasure chest is positive or negative simply how far it is from the surface.\n\nThis is where absolute value comes in.\n\nWhat is absolute value?\n\nThe absolute value of a number is its distance from zero on the number line.\n\nWe can use symbols to represent the absolute value of a number. For example, we can write the absolute value of 3 as $|3|$ .\n\nWriting an absolute value is very simple you just leave off the positive or negative sign and simply count the number of units that an integer is from zero.\n\nFind the absolute value of 3. Then determine what other integer has an absolute value equal to $|3|$ .\n\nLook at the positive integer, 3, on the number line. It is 3 units from zero on the number line, so it has an absolute value of 3.\n\nNow that you have found the absolute value of 3, we can find another integer with the same absolute value. Remember that with absolute value you are concerned with the distance an integer is from zero and not with the sign.\n\nHere is how we find another integer that is exactly 3 units from 0 on the number line. The negative integer, -3, is also 3 units from zero on the number line, so it has an absolute value of 3 also.\n\nSo, $|3|=|-3|=3$ .\n\nThis example shows that the positive integer, 3, and its opposite, -3, have the same absolute value. On a number line, opposites are found on opposite sides of zero. They are each the same distance from zero on the number line. Because of this, any integer and its opposite will always have the same absolute value. To find the opposite of an integer, change the sign of the integer.\n\nJust like we can find the absolute value of a number, we can also find the opposite of a number.\n\nFind the opposite of each of these numbers: -16 and 900.\n\n-16 is a negative integer. We can change the negative sign to a positive sign to find its opposite. The opposite of -16 is +16 or 16.\n\n900 is the same thing as +900. We can change the positive sign to a negative sign to find its opposite. So, the opposite of 900 is -900.\n\nFind the absolute value of each number.\n\n#### Example A\n\n$|22|$\n\nSolution: $22$\n\n#### Example B\n\n$|-222|$\n\nSolution: $222$\n\n#### Example C\n\nFind the opposite of -18.\n\nSolution: $18$\n\nHere is the original problem once again.\n\nDo you live where it snows? How much snow has ever accumulated in 24 hours where you live?\n\nCameron is amazed at the record snowfall in Alaska. One time, the day began without any snow on the ground. Then it began to snow and within 24 hours there was 62 inches of snow.\n\nWe can use an integer to write the increase in snowfall, and we can use absolute value to show the distance between the depth of snow and the bare ground.\n\nDo you know how to do this?\n\nTo express both of these values using integers and absolute value, we can begin with the increase in snowfall. Because it is an increase in snowfall, we use a positive integer to express this amount.\n\n$+62$ inches\n\nTo express the difference in snowfall accumulation and the bare ground, we use an absolute value.\n\n$|62|$\n\nThe absolute value of 62 is 62.\n\nThis is how we can express this situation using integers.\n\n### Guided Practice\n\nHere is one for you to try on your own.\n\n$|-234|$\n\nTo identify the absolute value of this number, we have to think about the number of units it is from zero. Remember that absolute value does not concern positive or negative, but the distance that a value is from zero.\n\n$|-234| = 234$\n\n### Explore More\n\nDirections: Write the opposite of each integer.\n\n1. 20\n\n2. -7\n\n3. 22\n\n4. -34\n\n5. 0\n\n6. -9\n\n7. 14\n\n8. 25\n\nDirections: Find the absolute value of each number.\n\n9. $|13|$\n\n10. $|-11|$\n\n11. $|-5|$\n\n12. $|17|$\n\n13. $|-9|$","date":"2015-03-07 02:48:40","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 17, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.5636307597160339, \"perplexity\": 448.75576341685183}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2015-11\/segments\/1424937406179.50\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20150226075646-00287-ip-10-28-5-156.ec2.internal.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
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{"url":"https:\/\/mailman.nanog.org\/pipermail\/nanog\/2007-September\/203105.html","text":"# Congestion control train-wreck workshop at Stanford: Call for Demos\n\nMon Sep 3 17:28:52 UTC 2007\n\nCongestion control train-wreck workshop at Stanford: Call for Demos\n\nWe would like to invite you to a two-day congestion control workshop,\ntitled \"Train-wrecks and congestion control: What happens if we do\nnothing?\", which we are hosting at Stanford on 31 March - 1 April, 2008.\n\nSpurred on by a widespread belief that TCP is showing its age and\nneeds replacing - and a deeper understanding of the dynamics of\ncongestion control - the research community has brought forward many\nnew congestion control algorithms. There has been lots of debate about\nthe relative merits and demerits of the new schemes; and a\nstandardization effort is under way in the IETF.\n\nBut before the next congestion control mechanism is deployed, it will\nneed to be deployed widely in operating systems and - in some cases -\nin switches and routers too. This will be a long road, requiring the\nleaders too. Our own experience of proposing new congestion control\nalgorithms has been met with the challenge: \"Show me the compelling\nneed for a new congestion control mechanisms?\", and \"What will really\nhappen to the Internet (and my business) if we keep TCP just the way\nit is?\"\n\nAs a community, we need examples that are simple to understand, and\ndemonstrate a compelling need for change. We call them the \"Train\nwreck scenarios\". Examples might show that distribution of video over\nwireless in the home will come to a halt without new algorithms. Or\nthat P2P traffic will bring the whole network crashing down. Or that\nhuge, high-performance data-centers need new algorithms. Whatever your\nfavorite example, we believe that if we are collectively armed with a\nhandful of mutually agreed examples, it will be much easier to make a\nbusiness case for change. Or put another way, if we can't articulate\ncompelling examples to industry leaders, then is the cost and risk of\nchange worth it?\n\nThe goal of the workshop is to identify a handful of really compelling\ndemonstrations of the impending train-wreck. The outcome will be a set\nof canonical examples that we will use to persuade industry of the\nneed for change.\n\nWe are deliberately inviting you many months ahead of time - to give\nyou time to create your compelling train-wreck demonstration. You can\nchoose the way you present your demonstration: You could bring\nequipment and show a live-demo; you could show simulations or\nanimations; or you could produce a video showing a real or synthetic\ndemo. Whatever method you choose, the goal is to create a case that\nthe need for change.\n\nWe will invite a panel of judges to give prizes for the most\ncompelling examples in two categories: (1) The Overall Most Compelling\nExample, which will be judged on a combination of the technical merits\nand the presentation of the scenario, and (2) The Most Technically\nCompelling Example, which will be judged on its technical merit alone,\nwithout consideration of the way it is presented.\n\nThe whole purpose of the workshop it to focus on the {\\em problem},\nnot the solutions. We are most definitely {\\em not} interested in your\nfavorite scheme, or ours. So we need some ground-rules.\n\\begin{center}\n{\\em No-one is allowed to mention a specific mechanism, algorithm or\nproposal at any time during the workshop: Not in their talk, not in a\npanel, and not in questions to the speakers. The only mechanisms that\nwill be allowed mention are: TCP (in its standard and deployed\nflavors), and idealized alternatives for purposes of demonstration.\nFor example, comparing TCP with an oracle that provides instantaneous\noptimal rates to each flow.}\n\\end{center}\n\nAttendance to the workshop will be by invitation only - to keep the\ndiscussion focused and lively. We will video the entire workshop and\nall the demonstrations, and make it publicly available on the\nInternet. We will make any proceedings and talks available too. The\ngoal is to open up the demonstrations for public scrutiny and feedback\nafter the event.\n\nThe event is hosted by the Stanford Clean Slate Program -\nhttp:\/\/cleanslate.stanford.edu - and local arrangements will be made\nby Nick McKeown and Nandita Dukkipati. The workshop has received\noffers of support and funding from Cisco Systems and Microsoft. We\nhope to make a limited number of travel grants available.\n\nWe have a small Program Committee (listed below) to select the final\ndemonstrations. We are soliciting a 1-page description of your demo.\n\nImportant Dates:\n===============\nWorkshop: 31 March - 1 April, 2008\n1-page demo description submission deadline: 1 Dec, 2007\nNotification of acceptance: 15 Dec, 2007\nFinal demo submissions: 17 March, 2008\nLast date for demo withdrawals: 25 March, 2008\n\nNandita Dukkipati <nanditad at stanford.edu> and\nNick McKeown <nickm at stanford.edu>\n\nBest wishes, and we hope to see you in Stanford!\n\nNandita Dukkipati\nNick McKeown\n\nProgram Committee:\n==================\n1. Albert Greenberg, Microsoft Research\n2. Peter Key, Microsoft Research\n3. Flavio Bonomi, Cisco\n4. Bruce Davie, Cisco\n5. Steven Low, Caltech\n6. Frank Kelly, Cambridge\n7. Lars Eggert, Nokia Research\/IETF\n8. Nick McKeown, Stanford\n9. Guru Parulkar, Stanford\n10. Nandita Dukkipati, Stanford\/Cisco\/Princeton","date":"2020-10-31 14:24:34","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.32086679339408875, \"perplexity\": 5589.066621860346}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 5, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2020-45\/segments\/1603107918164.98\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20201031121940-20201031151940-00355.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
{"url":"http:\/\/openstudy.com\/updates\/5586f497e4b091b59af1792c","text":"## anonymous one year ago Question inside!:)\n\n1. anonymous\n\n|dw:1434907802971:dw|\n\n2. Michele_Laino\n\nas we can see from your reaction, the mass number will decrease by four units as we go from left side to the right side. Furthermore, the atomic number will decrease by 2 units as we go from left side to right side, so the complete reaction is: |dw:1434908046133:dw| namely it is \\alpha particle\n\n3. anonymous\n\nso it would be the full equation.. continued off like this? ..Np + alpha particle 4 2\n\n4. anonymous\n\nthat would make it the complete equation?\n\n5. Michele_Laino\n\n6. anonymous\n\nooh okie yay! thanks!! :) so that is it for part 1?\n\n7. Michele_Laino\n\nit is for part #2 too since the radiation involved is the \"alpha radiation\"\n\n8. anonymous\n\nokie! yay! what about part 3? :)\n\n9. Michele_Laino\n\nthe involved alpha particle is coming from the nucleus of: $\\Large {}_{95}^{241}Am$\n\n10. anonymous\n\nohhh okie Yay!! so this problem is complete? :O\n\n11. Michele_Laino\n\nyes! we have finished!\n\n12. anonymous\n\nyay!! thanks so much!!!:D\n\n13. Michele_Laino\n\n:) :)","date":"2017-01-23 17:31:23","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.7450783848762512, \"perplexity\": 4719.023414098485}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2017-04\/segments\/1484560282935.68\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20170116095122-00497-ip-10-171-10-70.ec2.internal.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
\section{Introduction}
This paper describes the Third Edition of the Sloan Digital Sky Survey
(SDSS; York et al.~2000) Quasar Catalog. The first two editions,
coinciding with the SDSS Early Data Release (EDR; Stoughton et al.~2002) and
the SDSS First Data Release (DR1; Abazajian et al.~2003), contained 3,814 and
16,713 quasars, respectively (Schneider et al.~2002, 2003; hereafter
Papers~I and~II). The current catalog
contains 46,420 quasars from the SDSS Third Data Release
(DR3; Abazajian et al.~2005), of which 28,400 (61\%)
are presented here for the first time. The number of new quasars reported
here is comparable to the number in the final 2dF QSO Redshift Survey
(2QZ) catalog
(Croom et al.~2004); the total size is similar to that of the
NASA/IPAC Extragalactic Database (NED) Quasar Catalog.
The catalog in the present paper consists of the DR3 objects that
have a luminosity larger than
\hbox{$M_{i} = -22.0$} (calculated assuming an
\hbox{$H_0$ = 70 km s$^{-1}$ Mpc$^{-1}$,} \hbox{$\Omega_M$ = 0.3,}
\hbox{$\Omega_{\Lambda}$ = 0.7} cosmology [Spergel et al.~2003],
which will be used throughout this paper), and whose SDSS
spectra contain at least one broad emission line
(velocity FWHM larger than \hbox{$\approx$ 1000 km s$^{-1}$)}
or are unambiguously broad absorption line quasars.
The catalog also has a bright limit \hbox{of $i = 15.0$.}
The quasars range in redshift from~0.08 to~5.41, and
44,221~(95\%) were discovered by the SDSS.
The objects are denoted in the catalog by their DR3
J2000 coordinates;
the format for the object name
is \hbox{SDSS Jhhmmss.ss+ddmmss.s}. Since continual improvements
are being made to the SDSS data processing software, the astrometric
solutions to a given set of observations can result in modifications to the
coordinates of an object at the~0.1$''$ to~0.2$''$ level, hence
the designation of a given source can change between data releases. Except on
very rare occasions (see \S 5.1), this change in position is much less
than~1$''$.
When merging SDSS Quasar Catalogs with previous databases one should
always use the coordinates, not object names, to identify unique entries.
The DR3 catalog does not include classes of Active Galactic Nuclei (AGN)
such as Type~II quasars, Seyfert galaxies, and BL~Lacertae objects; studies
of these sources
in the SDSS
can be found in Zakamska et al.~(2003) (Type II), Kauffmann et al.~(2003)
and Hao et al.~(2005) (Seyferts), and Anderson et al.~(2003)
and Collinge et al.~(2005) (BL Lacs). Spectra of the
highest redshift SDSS quasars \hbox{($z > 5.7$;}
e.g., Fan et al.~2003) were not acquired as
part of the SDSS survey, so they are not included in the catalog.
The observations used to produce the catalog are presented in
\S 2; the construction of the catalog and the catalog format
are discussed in \S\S 3 and~4, respectively. Section~5
contains an overview of the catalog, and a brief description of future work is
given in \S 6.
The catalog is presented in an electronic table in this paper and
can also be found at an SDSS public web
site.\footnote{\tt
http://www.sdss.org/dr3/products/value$\_$added/qsocat$\_$dr3.html}
\section{Observations}
\subsection{Sloan Digital Sky Survey}
The Sloan Digital Sky Survey
uses a CCD camera \hbox{(Gunn et al. 1998)} on a
dedicated 2.5-m telescope
at Apache Point Observatory,
New Mexico, to obtain images in five broad optical bands ($ugriz$;
Fukugita et al.~1996) over approximately
10,000~deg$^2$ of the high Galactic latitude sky.
The
survey data processing software measures the properties of each detected object
in the imaging data in all five bands, and determines and applies both
astrometric and photometric
calibrations (Pier et al., 2003; \hbox{Lupton et al. 2001};
Ivezi\'c et al.~2004).
Photometric calibration is provided by simultaneous
observations with a 20-inch telescope at the same site (see Hogg
et al.~2001, Smith et al.~2002, and Stoughton et al.~2002).
The SDSS photometric system is based on the AB magnitude scale
(Oke \& Gunn~1983).
The catalog contains photometry from~136 different
SDSS imaging runs acquired between
1998~September~19 (Run~94) and 2003~May~1 (Run~3927)
and spectra from 826 spectroscopic plates taken between
2000~March~5 and 2003~July~6.
\subsection{Target Selection}
The SDSS filter system was designed to identify quasars at redshifts between
zero and approximately six (see Richards et al.~2002);
most quasar candidates are selected based on
their location in multidimensional SDSS color-space.
The Point Spread Function (PSF) magnitudes are used for the quasar
target selection, and the selection is based on magnitudes and colors
that have been corrected for Galactic extinction
(using the maps of Schlegel, Finkbeiner, \& Davis~1998).
An $i$ magnitude limit of~19.1
is imposed for candidates whose colors indicate
a probable redshift of less than~$\approx$~3 (selected from the $ugri$
color cube);
high-redshift candidates (selected from the $griz$ color cube)
are accepted if \hbox{$i < 20.2$.} The errors on the $i$ measurements
are typically \hbox{0.02--0.03} and \hbox{0.03--0.04} magnitudes at the
brighter and fainter limits, respectively.
The SDSS images of the high-redshift candidates must be unresolved.
In addition to the multicolor selection, unresolved objects brighter
\hbox{than $i = 19.1$} that lie within~2.0$''$ of a FIRST radio source
(Becker, White, \&~Helfand~1995) are also identified as primary quasar
candidates.
A detailed description of the quasar selection process and possible
biases can be
found in Richards et al.~(2002) and Paper~II.
Supplementing the primary quasar sample described above are
quasars that were targeted by
the following SDSS software selection packages:
Galaxy (Strauss et al.~2002 and
Eisenstein et al.~2001),
X-ray (object near the position of a {\it ROSAT} All-Sky Survey
[RASS; Voges et al.~1999,~2000]
source; see Anderson et al.~2003),
Star (point source with unusual color), or Serendipity (unusual color
or FIRST matches).
No attempt at completeness was made for the last three categories.
Most of the DR3 quasars that
fall below the magnitude limits of the quasar survey were selected by
the serendipity algorithm (see \S 5).
Target selection also imposes a maximum brightness limit
\hbox{($i = 15.0$)} on quasar candidates; the spectra of objects that
exceed this brightness would contaminate the adjacent spectra
on the detector of the SDSS spectrographs.
One of the most important tasks during the SDSS commissioning period
was to refine the quasar target selection algorithm (see Papers~I and~II);
some of the DR3 data (and all of the material in Paper~II)
were taken before the quasar selection algorithm as described in
Richards et al.~(2002) was implemented.
Once the final target selection software was
installed, the algorithm was applied to the entire SDSS photometric database,
and the DR3 quasar catalog lists the selection target flag for each object
produced by the final selection algorithm.
Most of the quasars that have been added to the catalog since the DR1 version
were found with the Richards et al.~(2002) algorithm.
It is important to note
that extreme care must be exercised when constructing statistical samples
from this catalog; if one uses the values produced by only the latest version
of the selection software, not only must one drop known quasars that were not
identified as quasar candidates by the final selection software, one must also
account for
quasar candidates produced by the final version that were not observed in the
SDSS spectroscopic survey (this can occur
in regions of sky whose spectroscopic targets were
identified by early versions of the selection software).
The selection for the UV-excess quasars,
which comprise the majority ($\approx$ 80\%) of the objects in the
DR3 Catalog, has remained
reasonably uniform; the changes to the selection algorithm were primarily
designed to increase the effectiveness of the identification of
\hbox{$3.0 < z < 3.8$} quasars.
Extensive discussions of the
completeness and efficiency of the selection can be found in
Vanden~Berk et al.~(2005) and
Richards et al.~(2005); the latter paper discusses the issues that are
important for the construction of
statistical SDSS quasar samples. The survey efficiency (the ratio of
quasars to quasar candidates) for the $ugri$-selected candidates, which comprise
the bulk of the quasar sample, is about~75\%.
\subsection{Spectroscopy}
Spectroscopic targets chosen by the various SDSS selection algorithms
(i.e., quasars, galaxies, stars, serendipity) are arranged onto
a series of 3$^{\circ}$ diameter circular fields (Blanton et al.~2003).
Details of the spectroscopic observations can be found in
York et al.~(2000), Castander et al.~(2001), Stoughton et al.~(2002),
and Paper~I.
There are~826 DR3 spectroscopic fields;
the locations of the plate centers
can be found from the information given by Abazajian et al.~(2005).
The DR3 spectroscopic program attempted to cover, in a well defined manner,
an area of~$\approx$~4188~deg$^2$. Spectroscopic plate~716 was the first
spectroscopic observation that was based on the
final version of the quasar target selection algorithm (Richards et al.~2002);
however, the detailed tiling
information in the SDSS database must be consulted to identify those regions
of sky targeted with the final selection algorithm.
The two double-spectrographs produce data covering \hbox{3800--9200 \AA }
at a spectral resolution \hbox{of $\simeq$ 2000.}
The data, along with the associated calibration frames, are processed by
the SDSS spectroscopic pipeline (see Stoughton et al.~2002).
The calibrated spectra are classified into various groups
(e.g., star, galaxy, quasar), and redshifts are determined by two independent
software packages.
Objects whose spectra cannot be classified
by the software are flagged for visual inspection.
Figure~1 shows the calibrated SDSS spectra of four previously unknown
catalog quasars representing a range of properties.
The spectrophotometric calibration has been considerably improved since
DR1; details of the changes are given in Abazajian et al.~(2004).
The processed DR3 spectra {\it have not} been corrected for Galactic
extinction; this is a change from all previous SDSS data releases.
\section{Construction of the SDSS Quasar Catalog}
The quasar catalog was constructed in three stages: 1)~Creation of a
quasar candidate database, 2)~Visual examination of the candidates'
spectra, and 3)~Application of luminosity
and emission-line velocity width criteria.
Because of the evolution of the project software during the early phases
of the SDSS, spectra of quasars could be obtained based on photometric
measurements/target selection criteria that
are not identical to the final products.
The DR3 catalog was prepared using Version~5.4 of the photometric pipeline
code.
(The differences between this release of the photometric software and previous
versions are described in Abazajian et al.~2004.)
These photometric measurements are referred to as BEST values;
the measurements used during the target selection
are denoted as TARGET values. Differences between TARGET and BEST arise when
1)~the image data are processed with a new version of the software or 2)~new
image data replace the observations used for the target selection.
See Paper~II for a more extensive
discussion of the differences between TARGET and BEST and the impact this
has on the SDSS quasar catalogs.
The absolute magnitude limit (\S~3.3) was imposed on
the BEST photometry. However, we also report the TARGET photometry, which
may be more useful when constructing statistical samples.
This situation arises because
small changes in the photometry, while leaving the {\em density} of
quasars constant, can change the {\em individual} quasars that appear in
the sample; thus only the TARGET sample has sufficient spectroscopic
completeness in terms of statistical analysis.
\subsection{Creation of the Quasar Candidate Database}
The construction of the DR3 Quasar Catalog began with four separate queries
(three automated, one manual) to the SDSS Catalog Archive
Server\footnote{\tt http://cas.sdss.org} (CAS). These queries produced
a set of objects that should contain all of the quasars found by the SDSS;
various automated and interactive culls were applied to this sample
to create the final catalog.
Before describing the queries in detail, we must examine the definition
of the term ``primary object'' within the SDSS object catalog, as it
is relevant to some of the queries. The CAS defines a
unique set of object detections in order to remove duplications
(e.g., an object can be detected twice in the overlap area of neighboring
runs). This unique set of objects is designated as ``primary'' in
the database, and only ``primary'' objects are considered during
target selection (the remaining objects can be ``secondary'' or
``family''; see \S4.7 in Stoughton et al.~(2002) for a definition of these
terms). Due to differences in the photometric pipeline between the
TARGET and BEST mentioned in the previous section, it is possible that
the BEST object
belonging to an existing spectrum is not designated ``primary'', or is
missing from the BEST catalog altogether. This can occur when
different data are used for TARGET and BEST, or because of changes in the
photometric pipeline, in particular the deblender (see \S 4.4 of
Abazajian et al.~2004). In addition, a few plates cover sky
area outside the
nominal survey boundaries (the so-called ``bonus plates''\footnote{
\tt http://www.sdss.org/dr3/products/spectra/}); all objects on these
plates are non-primary in the TARGET version, and objects that fall outside
of the final survey boundaries remain non-primary in BEST. The spectroscopic
target selection flags and photometry for both BEST and TARGET processing
are included in the catalog; the latter set are important for constructing
statistical samples (see Richards et al.~2005).
Below we present a brief description of the four queries used to assemble
the quasar candidate database. The actual text of the queries is given
following each description. Since some minor changes to the DR3 database
have been made since the the start of the construction of the catalog
(e.g., manually revised redshifts and spectral classifications),
queries run on the
latest DR3 database may return slightly different numbers of objects than
quoted below.
\smallskip\noindent
1. The first query is the union of
primary objects targeted as quasar candidates and
primary objects not targeted as quasar candidates but
whose spectra were either classified by the SDSS spectroscopic software
as {\tt QUASAR}, had
redshifts~$\ge$~0.6, or were
unidentified by the automated software (SDSS spectral class {\tt UNKNOWN}).
This query produced~130,119 objects; this is the
vast majority (over 99.5\%) of the initial quasar database.
\medskip
\vbox{
\noindent{\tt SELECT * FROM BESTDR3..photoObjAll as p\\
left outer join SpecObjAll as s on p.objID = s.bestObjID\\
WHERE ( (p.mode = 1) AND ( (p.primTarget \& 0x0000001f) $>$ 0 OR\\
( (p.primTarget \& 0x0000001f) = 0 AND (s.z$>$=0.6 OR
s.specClass in (3,4,0)) ) ) )}
}
\smallskip\noindent
2. The second query recovered~286 objects with quasar or {\tt UNKNOWN}
spectra that were
mapped to a photometric object in TARGET but not in BEST (due to differences in
deblending, etc., between the two pipelines).
\medskip
\vbox{
\noindent{\tt SELECT * FROM BESTDR3..SpecObjAll as s\\
join TARGDR3..PhotoObjAll as p on p.objID = s.targetObjID\\
WHERE (s.bestObjID=0 AND (zWarning \& 0x00020000 = 0) AND (s.specClass in
(3,4,0)))}
}
\smallskip\noindent
3. Our third query was designed to recover non-primary objects with spectral
classification of {\tt QUASAR} or {\tt UNKNOWN}. There are~251 such objects
in the quasar database, mostly from the ``bonus plates".
\medskip
\vbox{
\noindent{\tt SELECT * FROM BESTDR3..specObjAll as s\\
left outer join photoObjAll as p on s.bestObjID = p.objID\\
WHERE ( (p.mode in (2,3)) AND (s.specClass in (3,4,0)) )}
}
\smallskip\noindent
4. The previous three automated queries missed 33 quasars from the DR1 catalog.
Four of these objects were database glitches in DR1 - the objects are
definitely quasars, but it is not possible to map properly these spectra
to the spectroscopic fibers, so we cannot be certain of these
quasars' celestial coordinates. We were able to identify positively one
of these four quasars, as it was discovered by the Large Bright Quasar
Survey (Hewett, Foltz, and Chaffee 1995), but the other three are lost.
The remaining~29 objects were not targeted as quasars in BEST and
the software processing incorrectly
did not classify the spectrum as {\tt QUASAR} or
{\tt UNKNOWN}; these objects were added into the quasar candidate database.
The existence of these quasars suggests an $\simeq$0.2\%
incompleteness rate in our cataloging of quasars in post-DR1 data. Since
this query simply retrieved information on specific DR1 catalog quasars not
recovered by the above three queries, the text of this query is not given
here.
In an ideal survey (e.g., one where there was no repeat imaging,
no area overlaps, no change in software) only the first query
would be required.
Three automated cuts were made to the raw quasar database of approximately
131,000 candidates:
1)~the over 58,000 objects targeted as quasars but whose
spectra had not yet been obtained by the closing date of DR3
were deleted, 2)~candidates
classified with high confidence as ``stars" and had redshifts less
than~0.002 were rejected
(7647 objects),\footnote{After this paper was submitted, we realized we
could estimate the number of star+quasar blends discarded in this step using
FIRST counterparts. Two radio-detected star+quasar blends missing from the
catalog were discovered (SDSS J092853.5+570735.3 at \hbox{$z = 1.67$}
and SDSS J105115.8+464417.3 at \hbox{$z = 1.42$}).
Given that only 8\% of catalog objects are detected by FIRST, we expect that
$25^{+33}_{-16}$ additional FIRST-undetected quasars are missing from the
catalog due to blending with stars. Overall, star+quasar blending appears
to create a negligible incompleteness of 0.06$^{+0.07}_{-0.03}$\%.}
and 3)~multiple observations of the same object
(coordinate agreement better than~1$''$) were resolved;
the primary spectrum with the
highest S/N ratio was retained (this action deleted 1205 spectra).
These culls produced a list of~63,614
unique quasar candidates.
\subsection{Visual Examination of the Spectra}
The SDSS spectra of the remaining quasar
candidates were manually inspected by
several of the authors (DPS, PBH, GTR, MAS, DVB, and SFA).
This effort confirmed that the
spectroscopic pipeline redshifts and classifications
of the overwhelming majority of the objects
are accurate.
Several thousand objects were dropped from the
list because they were obviously not quasars (these objects tended to be
low S/N stars, unusual stars, and a mix of absorption-line and
narrow emission-line galaxies).
Spectra for which redshifts could not be determined (low signal-to-noise
ratio or subject to data-processing difficulties) were also removed from
the sample.
This visual inspection resulted in the revisions of
the redshifts of a few hundred quasars; this change in the redshift was usually
quite substantial. Most of these corrections have been applied to the CAS.
About~1\% of the entries in the catalog (a few hundred objects)
are not ``ironclad" classical quasars or lack absolutely certain redshifts.
There are numerous ``extreme Broad Absorption Line (BAL) Quasars"
(see Hall et al.~2002, 2004); it is difficult
if not impossible to apply the emission-line width criterion for these objects,
but they are clearly of interest, have more in common with ``typical" quasars
than with narrow-emission line galaxies,
and have historically been included in quasar
catalogs. We have included in the catalog all objects with broad
absorption-line spectra that meet the \hbox{$M_i < -22$} luminosity criterion.
The spectra at the S/N limit of the catalog occasionally yield likely
but not certain redshifts (witness the revisions of the redshifts of
a few objects in each edition of this series of papers; see \S 5.1).
\subsection{Luminosity and Line Width Criteria}
As in Paper~II, we adopt a luminosity limit of
\hbox{$M_{i} = -22.0$} for an
\hbox{$H_0$ = 70 km s$^{-1}$ Mpc$^{-1}$,} \hbox{$\Omega_M$ = 0.3,}
\hbox{$\Omega_{\Lambda}$ = 0.7} cosmology (Spergel et al.~2003).
The absolute magnitudes were calculated by correcting the $i$
measurement for Galactic extinction (using the maps of
Schlegel, Finkbeiner, \& Davis~1998) and assuming that the quasar
spectral energy distribution in the ultraviolet-optical
can be represented by a power law
\hbox{($f_{\nu} \propto \nu^{\alpha}$),} where $\alpha$~=~$-0.5$
(Vanden~Berk et al.~2001). This calculation ignores the contributions
of emission lines and the observed distribution in continuum slopes.
Emission lines can contribute several tenths of a magnitude to the
k-correction (see Richards et al 2001), and variations in the continuum
slopes can introduce a magnitude or more of error into the calculation
of the absolute magnitude, depending upon the
redshift.
The absolute magnitudes
will be particularly uncertain at redshifts near and above
five when the Lyman~$\alpha$ line (with a typical observed equivalent width
of~$\approx$~500~\AA ) and strong Lyman~$\alpha$ forest absorption enter
the~$i$ bandpass.
Our catalog has a luminosity limit of~$M_i$~=~$-22.0$, which is
lower than the cutoff in most quasar catalogs (see Paper~II for a discussion
of this point).
Objects near this limit can have an appreciable amount of contamination
by starlight (the host galaxy). Although the SDSS photometric measurements
in the catalog are based on the PSF magnitudes, the nucleus of the host
galaxy can appreciably contribute to this measurement for the lowest luminosity
entries in the catalog (see Hao et al.~2005).
An object of $M_i = -22.0$ will reach the \hbox{$i = 19.1$} ``low-redshift"
selection limit at a redshift of~$\approx$~0.4.
After visual inspection and application of the luminosity criterion had
reduced the number of quasar candidates to under 50,000 objects, the
remaining spectra were processed with an automated line measuring routine. The
spectra for objects whose maximum line width was less than 1000~km~s$^{-1}$
were visually examined; if the measurement was deemed to be an accurate
reflection of the line (automated routines occasionally have spectacular
failures when dealing with complex line profiles), the object was removed
from the catalog. The resulting catalog contains~46,420 entries.
\section{Catalog Format}
The DR3 SDSS Quasar Catalog is available in three types of files at an
SDSS public web site:
1)~a standard ASCII file with fixed-size columns,
2)~a gzipped compressed version of the ASCII file (which is smaller than
the uncompressed version
by a factor of nearly five), and 3)~a binary FITS table format.
The following description applies to the standard ASCII file. All files
contain the same number of columns, but the storage of the numbers differs
slightly in the ASCII and FITS formats; the FITS header contains all of the
required documentation. Table~1 provides a summary of the information
contained in each of the columns in the catalog.
The standard ASCII catalog (Table~2 of this paper)
contains information on~46,420 quasars in
a 19.8~megabyte file.
The DR3 format is similar to that of DR1; the major difference is
the inclusion
of some additional SDSS observational/processing material in the DR3
catalog.
The first~71 lines consist of catalog documentation; this is followed
by~46,420 lines containing
information on the quasars. There are~65 columns in each line; a summary
of the information is given in Table~1 (the documentation in the ASCII catalog
header
is essentially an expansion of Table~1). At least one space separates all the
column entries, and, except for the first and last columns (SDSS and NED
object names), all entries are reported in either floating point or
integer format.
Notes on the catalog columns:
\noindent
1) The DR3 object designation, given by the format
\hbox{SDSS Jhhmmss.ss+ddmmss.s}; only the final~18
characters (i.e., the \hbox{``SDSS J"} for each entry is dropped)
are listed in the catalog.
\noindent
2--3) The J2000 coordinates (Right Ascension and
Declination) in decimal degrees. The positions for the vast majority of
the objects are accurate to~0.1$''$~rms or better
in each coordinate; the largest
expected errors are~0.2$''$ (see Pier et al~2003). The SDSS coordinates
are placed in the International Celestial Reference System, primarily
through the USNO CCD Astrograph Catalog (Zacharias et al.~2000), and
have an rms accuracy of~0.045$''$ per coordinate.
\noindent
4) The quasar redshifts.
A total of 377 of the CAS redshifts were revised during our visual inspection.
A detailed description of the redshift measurements is given in Section 4.10
of Stoughton et al.~(2002). A comparison of 299 quasars observed
at multiple epochs by the SDSS (Wilhite et al.~2005) finds an rms
difference of~0.006 in the measured redshifts for a given object.
\noindent
5--14) The DR3 PSF
magnitudes and errors (not corrected for Galactic reddening) from BEST
photometry (or, when BEST is unavailable, from TARGET photometry)
for each object in the five SDSS filters.
The effective wavelengths of the $u$, $g$, $r$, $i$, and $z$ bandpasses
are 3541, 4653, 6147, 7461, and~8904~\AA, respectively (for
\hbox{$\alpha = -0.5$} power-law spectral energy distribution using the
definition of effective wavelength given in Schneider, Gunn, and
Hoessel~1983).
The photometric measurements are reported
in the natural system of the SDSS camera, and
the magnitudes are normalized to the
AB system (Oke \& Gunn~1983).
The measurements are reported as
asinh magnitudes (Lupton, Gunn, \& Szalay~1999); see Paper~II and
Abazajian et al.~(2004) for additional
discussion and references for the accuracy of the photometric measurements.
The TARGET photometric measurements are presented in columns \hbox{55--64.}
\smallskip\smallskip
\vbox{\noindent
15) The Galactic extinction in the $u$ band based on the maps of
Schlegel, Finkbeiner, \& Davis~(1998). For an $R_V = 3.1$ absorbing medium,
the extinctions in the SDSS bands can be expressed as
$$ A_x \ = \ C_x \ E(B-V) $$
\noindent
where $x$ is the filter ($ugriz$), and values of $C_x$ are
5.155, 3.793, 2.751, 2.086, and 1.479 for $ugriz$, respectively
($A_g$, $A_r$, $A_i$, and $A_z$ are 0.736, 0.534, 0.405, and 0.287 times
$A_u$).
}
\noindent
16) The logarithm of the Galactic neutral hydrogen column density along the
line of sight to the quasar. These values were
estimated via interpolation of the 21-cm data from Stark et al.~(1992),
using the COLDEN software provided by the {\it Chandra} X-ray Center.
Errors associated with the interpolation are typically expected to
be less than $\approx 1\times 10^{20}$~cm$^{-2}$ (see \S5 of
Elvis, Lockman, \& Fassnacht 1994).
\noindent
17) Radio Properties. If there is a source
in the FIRST catalog
within~2.0$''$ of
the quasar position, this column contains the FIRST
peak flux density at 20~cm encoded as an AB magnitude
$$ AB \ = \ -2.5 \log \left( {f_{\nu} \over 3631 \ {\rm Jy}} \right) $$
\noindent
(see Ivezi\'c et al.~2002).
An entry of ``0.000" indicates no match to a FIRST source; an entry of
``$-1.000$" indicates that the object does not lie in the region covered by
the final catalog of the FIRST survey.
\noindent
18) The S/N of the FIRST source whose flux is given in column~17.
\noindent
19) Separation between the SDSS and FIRST coordinates (in arc seconds).
\noindent
20-21)
These two columns provide information about
extended FIRST counterparts to SDSS quasar so as to identify
some of the potentially most interesting extended radio
sources in the catalog.
In cases when the FIRST counterpart to
an SDSS source is extended, the FIRST catalog position of the source
may differ by more than 2$''$ from the optical position. A~``1" in column~20
indicates that no matching FIRST source was found within
2$''$ of the optical position, but that there {\it is}
significant detection (larger than~3$\sigma$)
of FIRST flux at the optical position. This is
the case for 1319 SDSS quasars.
A ``1" in column~21 identifies
the 891 sources with a FIRST match in either column~17 or~20 that also
have at least one FIRST counterpart located between 2.0$''$ (the SDSS-FIRST
matching radius) and
30$''$ of the optical position.
Based on the average FIRST
source surface density of 90~deg$^{-2}$, we \hbox{expect 20--30} of these
matches to be chance superpositions.
\noindent
22) The logarithm
of the vignetting-corrected count rate (photons s$^{-1}$)
in the broad energy band \hbox{(0.1--2.4 keV)} in the
{\it ROSAT} All-Sky Survey Faint Source Catalog (Voges et al.~2000) and the
{\it ROSAT} All-Sky Survey Bright Source Catalog (Voges et al.~1999).
The matching radius was set to~30$''$;
an entry of~``$-9.000$" in this column indicates no X-ray detection.
\noindent
23) The S/N of the {\it ROSAT} measurement.
\noindent
24) Separation between the SDSS and {\it ROSAT} All-Sky Survey
coordinates (in arc seconds).
\noindent
25--30) The $JHK$ magnitudes and errors from the
2MASS All-Sky Data Release Point Source Catalog (Cutri et al.~2003) using
a matching radius
of~2.0$''$. A non-detection by 2MASS is indicated by a ``0.000" in these
columns. Note that the 2MASS measurements are Vega-based, not AB,
magnitudes.
\noindent
31) Separation between the SDSS and 2MASS coordinates (in arc seconds).
\noindent
32) The absolute magnitude in the $i$ band calculated by correcting for
Galactic extinction and assuming
\hbox{$H_0$ = 70 km s$^{-1}$ Mpc$^{-1}$,}
$\Omega_M$~=~0.3, $\Omega_{\Lambda}$~=~0.7, and a power-law (frequency)
continuum index of~$-0.5$.
\noindent
33) Morphological information.
If the SDSS photometric pipeline classified the image of the quasar
as a point source, the catalog entry is~0; if the quasar is extended, the
catalog entry is~1.
\noindent
34) The SDSS {\tt SCIENCEPRIMARY} flag, which
indicates whether the spectrum was taken as a normal science spectrum
({\tt SCIENCEPRIMARY}~=~1) or for another purpose
({\tt SCIENCEPRIMARY}~=~0). The latter category contains
Quality Assurance and calibration spectra, or spectra of objects
located outside of the nominal survey area
(e.g., ``bonus" spectra, see \S 3.1).
\noindent
35) The SDSS {\tt MODE} flag, which provides information on
whether the object is designated primary ({\tt MODE} = 1), secondary
({\tt MODE} = 2), or family ({\tt MODE} = 3). During target selection,
only objects with {\tt MODE} = 1
are considered (except for objects on ``bonus" plates);
however, differences between TARGET and BEST
photometric pipeline versions make it possible that the BEST
photometric object belonging to a spectrum is either not detected at
all, or is a non-primary object (see \S 3.1 above). Over~99.5\% of the
catalog entries are primary;
174 quasars are secondary and~6 are family.
For statistical analysis, users should restrict
themselves to primary objects; secondary and
family objects are included in the catalog for the sake of completeness
with respect to confirmed quasars.
\noindent
36) The 32-bit SDSS target selection flag from BEST processing
({\tt PRIMTARGET}; see Table~26 in Stoughton et al. 2002 for details).
The target selection flag from TARGET processing is found in column~54.
\noindent
37-43) The spectroscopic target selection status (BEST) for each object.
The target selection flag in column~36 is decoded for seven groups:
Low-redshift quasar, High-redshift quasar, FIRST, ROSAT, Serendipity,
Star, and Galaxy; see Table~3 for a summary.
An entry of~``1" indicates that the object satisfied the given criterion
(see Stoughton et al.~2002). Note that an object can
be targeted by more than one selection algorithm.
\noindent
44--45) The SDSS Imaging Run number and the Modified Julian Date (MJD) of the
photometric observation used in the catalog. The MJD is given as an integer;
all observations on a given night have the same integer MJD
(and, because of the observatory's location, the same UT date). For example,
imaging run 94 has an MJD of 51075; this observation was taken on the
night of 1998 September~19~(UT).
\noindent
46--48) Information about the spectroscopic observation (Modified Julian
Date, spectroscopic plate number, and spectroscopic fiber number) used to
determine the redshift.
These three numbers are unique for each spectrum, and
can be used to retrieve the digital spectra from the public SDSS database.
\noindent
49--53) Additional SDSS processing information: the
photometric processing rerun number; the camera column (1--6) containing
the image of the object, the frame number of the run containing the object,
the object identification number, and the ``chunk" number (referred to as
`tilerun' in the CAS) used to assign
the target selection flag (see Stoughton et al.~2002 for descriptions of
these parameters).
\noindent
54) The 32-bit SDSS target selection flag from the TARGET processing.
\noindent
55--64) The DR3 PSF
magnitudes and errors (not corrected for Galactic reddening) from TARGET
photometry. For 59 quasars, the $u$ TARGET information is missing from
the CAS due to a software error;
these objects have "0.000" entered for the $u$~TARGET values.
\noindent
65) NED information.
If there is a source in the NED quasar database within~5.0$''$ of the
quasar position, the NED object name is given in this column.
The matching was done using
the 45,526 objects in the NED quasar database as of August~2004.
\section{Catalog Summary}
Of the 46,420 objects in the catalog, 44,221 were discovered by the SDSS, and
28,400 are presented here for the first time.
(We classify an object as
previously known if the NED Quasar Catalog contains a quasar
within~5$''$ of the SDSS position.
Occasionally NED lists the SDSS designation for an object that was discovered
earlier via another investigation; we have not attempted
to correct these misattributions.)
The catalog quasars span a wide range of properties: redshifts
from~0.078 to~5.414, \hbox{$ 15.10 < i < 21.78$}
(160~objects \hbox{have $i > 20.5$;} only five
have \hbox{$i > 21.0$}),
and \hbox{$ -30.2 < M_{i} < -22.0$.}
The catalog contains 3761, 2672, and~6192
matches to the FIRST, RASS, and 2MASS catalogs, respectively.
The RASS and 2MASS catalogs cover essentially all of the DR1 area, but~4683
(10\%) of
the entries in the DR3 catalog lie outside of the FIRST region.
Figure~2 displays the distribution of the DR3 quasars in the $i$-redshift plane
(the five objects with \hbox{$i > 21$} are not plotted).
Objects which NED indicates were previously discovered by investigations other
than the SDSS
are indicated with open circles. The curved cutoff on the left
hand side of the graph is due to the minimum luminosity criterion
\hbox{($M_i < -22$).} The ridge in the contours at
\hbox{$i \approx 19.1$}
for redshifts below three reflects the flux limit of the
low-redshift sample; essentially all of the
large number of \hbox{$z < 3$} points with \hbox{$i > 19.1$}
are quasars selected via criteria other than the primary
multicolor sample.
A histogram of the catalog redshifts is shown in Figure~3. A clear
majority of
quasars have redshifts below two (the median redshift is~1.47, the
mode is~$\approx$~1.85),
but there is a significant tail
of objects out beyond a redshift of five
\hbox{($z_{\rm max}$ = 5.41).} The dips in the curve at redshifts
of~2.7 and~3.5 arise because the SDSS colors of quasars at these redshifts
are similar to the colors of stars; we decided to accept significant
incompleteness at these redshifts rather than be overwhelmed by a large number
of stellar contaminants in the spectroscopic survey. Improvements in the
quasar target selection algorithm since the previous edition of the
SDSS Quasar Catalog have considerably increased the efficiency of target
selection at redshifts near~3.5 (compare Figure~3 with Paper~II's
Figure~4; see Richards et al.~(2002) for a discussion).
The distribution of the observed $i$ magnitude
(not corrected for Galactic extinction) of the quasars is given in Figure~4.
The sharp drops in the histogram at \hbox{$i \approx 19.1$} and
\hbox{$i \approx 20.2$} are due to the magnitude limits in the low and
high redshift samples, respectively.
Figure~5 displays the distribution of the absolute~$i$ magnitudes. There
is a roughly symmetric peak centered at \hbox{$M_i = -26$} with a FWHM
of approximately one magnitude. The histogram drops off sharply at
high luminosities (only~1.6\% of the objects have \hbox{$M_i < -28.0$)}
and has a gradual decline towards lower luminosities.
A summary of the spectroscopic selection is given in Table~3. We report
seven selection classes in the catalog (columns~37 to~43).
The second column in Table~3 gives the number of objects that
satisfied a given selection criterion; the third column
contains the number of objects that were identified only by that selection
class. Slightly over two-thirds~(68\%) of the catalog entries
were selected based on the SDSS
quasar selection criteria (either a low-redshift or high-redshift candidate,
or both).
Approximately~55\% of the quasars
in the catalog are serendipity-flagged candidates,
which is also primarily an ``unusual
color" algorithm; about one-fifth of the catalog was selected by
the serendipity criteria alone.
Of the~31,403 DR3 quasars that have Galactic-absorption corrected
$i$ magnitudes brighter than~19.1,
29,345 (93.4\%) were found from the quasar multicolor
selection; if one combines multicolor and FIRST selection (the primary
quasar target selection criteria),
all but~1777 of the \hbox{$i < 19.1$} objects were selected.
\subsection{Differences Between the DR1 and DR3 SDSS Quasar Catalogs}
The DR1 Catalog (Paper~II) contains~16,713 objects. The DR3 coverage includes
all of the Paper~II area, so one would expect that all of the Paper~II
quasars would be included in the new edition. A comparison of the
catalogs, defining a match as a positional coincidence of better than~1$''$,
reveals that~43 Paper~II quasars (0.26\%) are missing in the new catalog.
Each of these cases has been investigated; a summary of the results is
given in Table~4. There are several reasons for
the omissions:
\noindent
1. Visual examination of the DR3-processed spectrum either convinced us that
the object was not a quasar or that the S/N was insufficient to assign
a redshift with confidence (15 DR1 quasars).
\noindent
2. The widest line in the DR3-processed spectrum had a FWHM of less than
1000~km~s$^{-1}$ (14 DR1 quasars).
\noindent
3. The luminosity of the object dropped below $M_i = -22$. This can arise
because the latest processing produces new photometric measurements, or
because
different imaging data are used between DR1 and DR3 (in addition to measurement
errors, variability can play a role). All of the objects dropped for
this reason were near the luminosity cutoff in the DR1 catalog (9 DR1 quasars).
\noindent
4. Uncertain fiber mapping in the DR3 database forced us to drop three
DR1 quasars. These objects are definitely quasars, but we are no longer
certain (as we thought we were when using the DR1 database)
of the celestial positions.
\noindent
5. The positions of two DR1 quasars,
whose spectra were taken on spectroscopic plate 540, changed
by more than one arcsecond (in these cases, 2.0$''$ and~3.5$''$) in the
DR3 database.
Four of the entries in the DR3 catalog have redshifts that differ by more
than~0.1 from the DR1 values (the changes in redshift are large: 0.52,
0.84, 1.44, and~2.33). These quasars are reviewed in \S 5.10.
Only seven quasars have $i$ measurements that differ by more than~0.5
magnitudes between DR1 and~DR3. In all cases the DR3 measurements are
considered more reliable than those presented in previous publications.
\subsection{Bright Quasars}
Although the spectroscopic survey is limited to objects fainter than
\hbox{$i = 15$}, the SDSS continues to discover ``PG-class"
(Schmidt \& Green~1983) objects. The DR3 catalog contains 56 entries
with \hbox{$i < 16.0$}; seven were previously unknown. The spectra of
the brightest two discoveries,
\hbox{SDSS J151921.66+590823.7} \hbox{($i = 15.39$}, \hbox{$z = 0.078$)} and
\hbox{SDSS J152156.48+520238.5} \hbox{($i = 15.44$}, \hbox{$z = 2.21$)},
are presented in Figure~1. Six of the seven new bright quasars have
redshifts below~0.2 and are in the
low-luminosity tail of the catalog \hbox{($M_i > -24.0$;} see Figure~5);
but the $z$~=~2.21 object is spectacularly luminous (see \S 5.3).
A comparison of the SDSS and PG surveys is presented in Jester et al.~(2005).
\subsection{Luminous Quasars}
There are 68 catalog quasars with \hbox{$M_i < -29.0$}
(3C~273 has \hbox{$M_{i} \approx -26.6$} in our adopted cosmology); 25 are
published here for the first time.
HS~1700+6416, \hbox{(= SDSS J170100.62+641209.0)} at
\hbox{$M_i = -30.24$} \hbox{and $z = 2.74$,}
is the most luminous quasar in the catalog.
Four objects have \hbox{$M_i < -30.0$},
including \hbox{SDSS J152156.48+520238.5} (see previous section),
which, at \hbox{$M_i = -30.19$,} is the third most luminous
catalog entry. The spectrum of this object
possesses a number of low equivalent width
emission lines, which is expected from the Baldwin~(1977) effect. The
image of the quasar is unresolved, so if it is lensed the image separation
must be considerably less than one~arcsecond (see Pindor et al.~2003).
This object is not seen in the FIRST or the
RASS databases. The latter point might strike the reader as surprising
given the brightness of the object. We can quantify the relationship
between the optical brightness and the X-ray upper limit via the quantity
$\alpha_{\rm ox}$, the point-to-point
spectral slope between rest-frame 2500~\AA\ and 2~keV. For this object,
we find, adopting the assumptions in \S2 of Brandt et~al.~(2002),
\hbox{that $\alpha_{\rm ox} \le -1.7$.}
This constraint is only moderately
interesting; given the luminosity-$\alpha_{\rm ox}$ relation (e.g.,
Strateva et al. 2005), this quasar would be expected to
have $\alpha_{\rm ox}$ just below this limit.
The lack of an X-ray detection could also be explained if
the object were a BAL (e.g., Brandt, Laor, \& Wills~2000), but there
is no evidence of any BAL features in the spectrum.
\subsection{Broad Absorption Line Quasars}
The SDSS Quasar Selection Algorithm has proven to be effective
at finding a wide variety of Broad Absorption Line (BAL) Quasars.
A catalog of 224 BALs drawn from the Paper~I sample is given in
Reichard et al.~(2003); we are currently constructing a BAL catalog, which
will contain well over 1000 objects, from the 46,420 DR3 quasars
(Trump et al. 2005). BALs are usually recognized by the presence of
C~IV absorption features, which are only visible in SDSS spectra at
$z > 1.6$, thus the frequency of the BAL phenomenon cannot be found from
simply taking the ratio of BALs to total number of quasars in the SDSS
catalog.
During the first few years of the SDSS a wide variety of ``extreme BALs"
were discovered
(see Hall et al.~2002); while the SDSS continues to find significant
numbers of such objects (the spectrum of a new extreme BAL is displayed
in the lower right panel of Figure~1), the DR3 catalog contains only two
BAL spectra that qualitatively
differ from previous published types: a He~II BAL
\hbox{(SDSSJ162805.81+474415.7)} and a possible BAL with a strange and
unexplained continuum shape
\hbox{(SDSSJ073816.91+314437.1).} Spectra of both of these BAL quasars
are displayed in Hall et al.~(2004).
\subsection{Quasars with Redshifts Below 0.15}
The catalog contains~69 quasars with redshifts below~0.15;
30 are presented here for the first time. All of these objects are
of low luminosity \hbox{($M_i > -23.5$)} because of the \hbox{$i = 15.0$}
limit for the spectroscopic sample. Most of these quasars (53 out of 69)
are extended in the SDSS image data.
Figure~1 displays the spectra of the two lowest redshift quasars among
the recent discoveries,
\hbox{SDSS J151921.66+590823.7} (also mentioned in \S 5.2)
and
\hbox{SDSS J214054.55+002538.2}; both have redshifts near~0.08.
\subsection{High-Redshift ($z \ge 4$) Quasars}
One of the most exciting results produced by the SDSS is
the identification of high-redshift quasars; the SDSS has discovered
quasars out to a redshift of~6.4
(Fan et al.~2003 and references therein). Quasars with redshifts larger
than~$\approx$~5.7
cannot be found by the SDSS spectroscopic survey because
at these redshifts the observed wavelength of the
Lyman~$\alpha$ emission line is redward of
the $i$ band; at this point quasars become single-filter ($z$) detections.
At the typical $z$-band flux levels for redshift six quasars, there are simply
too many ``false-positives" to undertake automated targeting.
The largest redshift in the DR1 catalog is
\hbox{SDSS J023137.65$-$072854.5} \hbox{at $z = 5.41$}, which was originally
described by Anderson et al.~(2001). (Indeed, since DR3 represents nearly
half of the survey area, this result suggests that the effective redshift
limit for the SDSS spectroscopic survey is nearer~5.5 than~5.7.)
The DR3 catalog contains 520 quasars with redshifts larger than four; this
is quite striking since but a decade ago the published number of such objects
was only about two dozen. The SDSS discovered 512 of these quasars;
322 are presented here for the first time. The
catalog contains~17 quasars with redshifts above five; spectra of the
twelve new objects with the highest redshifts (all with redshifts greater than
or equal to~4.99) are displayed in Figure~6.
The processed spectra for a few of the high-redshift quasars have gaps
(usually caused by extreme contamination of the spectrum from bright,
neighboring objects) that include all of the region containing
the Lyman~$\alpha$ emission line.
The shape of such spectra (in particular the region associated with the
Lyman~$\alpha$ forest), however, are so distinctive
that we are confident that
our redshift assignments are correct. To verify that this is an appropriate
procedure, we obtained a spectrum with the Low Resolution Spectrograph
(Hill et al.~1998) on the Hobby-Eberly Telescope (HET) of the highest redshift
quasar with this defect in the SDSS spectrum:
\hbox{SDSS~J162623.38+484136.4.} The HET spectrum confirmed that this
is indeed a redshift~4.9 quasar.
The flux limits of the RASS are such that only the most extreme X-ray
sources can be detected at redshifts larger than four.
We have checked for new X-ray detections in {\it XMM-Newton\/},
{\it ROSAT\/} (pointed observations), and {\it Chandra\/} data;
no additional clear detections are found from the first two instruments,
but six of the $z>4$ quasars in the catalog have previously unreported X-ray
detections in
{\it Chandra\/} data. These detections have limited numbers of counts, and
thus detailed
X-ray spectral analyses are not possible. We have computed the quasars'
point-to-point
spectral slopes between rest-frame 2500~\AA\ and 2~keV ($\alpha_{\rm ox}$),
adopting
the assumptions in \S2 of Brandt et~al. (2002). Considering the known
dependence of
$\alpha_{\rm ox}$ upon luminosity (e.g., Vignali, Brandt, \& Schneider 2003;
Strateva et~al. 2005), four of the quasars have X-ray emission at a nominal
level
for radio-quiet quasars:
SDSS~J102622.89+471907.0 ($\alpha_{\rm ox}=-1.59$; $z=4.94$),
SDSS~J105322.98+580412.1 ($\alpha_{\rm ox}=-1.57$; $z=5.21$),
SDSS~J222509.19--001406.8 ($\alpha_{\rm ox}=-1.79$; $z=4.89$), and
SDSS~J222845.14--075755.3 ($\alpha_{\rm ox}=-1.78$; $z=5.14$).
These are some of the highest redshift X-ray detections obtained to date.
The remaining two quasars with {\it Chandra\/} detections have more remarkable
X-ray properties.
SDSS~J001115.23+144601.8 ($\alpha_{\rm ox}=-1.28$; $z=4.96$) is a
radio-detected
quasar (37~mJy at 1.4~GHz; Condon et~al. 1998) that is notably X-ray bright.
Its
observed-frame \hbox{0.5--2~keV} flux is
$1.0\times 10^{-13}$~erg~cm$^{-2}$~s$^{-1}$,
making it one of the X-ray brightest objects known at $z>4$. The
basic X-ray and
radio properties of this quasar are similar to those of the handful of X-ray
luminous ``blazars'' studied at $z>4$ (see Table~3 of Bassett et~al.~2004 and
references therein). The relatively weak
Lyman~$\alpha$ equivalent width of this quasar may be due to dilution by
a beamed continuum.
SDSS~J144231.72+011055.2 ($\alpha_{\rm ox}=-1.37$; $z=4.51$) is a weak-line
quasar discussed in \S4 of Anderson et~al. (2001); the nature of weak-line
quasars remains mysterious. Its relatively strong X-ray emission suggests that
a beamed X-ray continuum component may be present, although it is not a strong
radio source (its integrated FIRST 20~cm flux density of 1.87~mJy indicates
it is only moderately radio loud). The relatively strong X-ray emission of
SDSS~J144231.72+011055.2 is notably different from that of
SDSS~J153259.96$-$003944.1 (Fan et~al. 1999), the prototype SDSS weak-line
quasar, which is fairly X-ray weak ($\alpha_{\rm ox}<-1.79$; see Table~A1
of Vignali et~al. 2003). There is apparently significant variety among the
weak-line quasar population, even when one considers the time gap
(up to several months in the rest frame) between the optical and X-ray
observations.
\subsection{Close Pairs}
The mechanical constraint
that SDSS spectroscopic fibers must be separated by~55$''$ on a given plate
makes it difficult for the spectroscopic survey to confirm close pairs
of quasars. In regions that
are covered by more than one plate, however, it is possible
to obtain spectra of both components of a close pair;
there are~121 pairs of quasars in the catalog with angular separation less than
$60''$ (eleven pairs with separations less than 20$''$).
Most of the pairs are chance superpositions, but there are seven pairs that
may be physically associated systems ($\Delta z < 0.02$); they are listed
in Table~5. Hennawi et al. (2005) identified over 200 physical quasar pairs,
primarily through spectroscopic observations of unconfirmed SDSS
quasar candidates near known SDSS quasars.
\subsection{Morphology}
The images of~2077 of the DR3 quasars are classified as extended by the
SDSS photometric pipeline;~1961~(94\%) have redshifts below one
(there are seven resolved \hbox{$z > 3.0$} quasars).
The majority of the large redshift ``resolved" quasars are probably measurement
errors, but this sample probably also contains a mix of chance superpositions
of quasars and foreground objects or possibly some
small angle separation gravitational lenses (indeed, several lenses
are present in the resolved quasar sample; see Paper~II).
\subsection{Matches with Non-optical Catalogs}
The DR3 Quasar Catalog lists matches in the radio,
X-ray, and infrared bands. We report radio measurements from the FIRST survey
(Becker, White, \& Helfand~1995).
A total of 3761 catalog objects are FIRST sources (defined by a SDSS-FIRST
positional offset of less than~2.0$''$).
Extended radio sources may be missed by this matching; to recover at
least some of these, we separately identify all objects with a greater than
3$\sigma$ detection of FIRST flux at the optical position (1319 sources).
For these objects as well as those with a FIRST catalog match within
2$''$, we perform a second FIRST catalog search with 30$''$ matching radius
to identify possible radio lobes associated with the quasar, finding
such matches for 891 sources.
Matches with the {\it ROSAT} All-Sky Survey Bright (Voges et al. 1999) and
Faint (Voges et al. 2000) Source Catalogs
were made with a maximum allowed positional offset
of~30$''$. The SDSS target selection for {\it ROSAT} sources initially
considers SDSS objects that exceed
the~30$''$ catalog matching radius.
The DR3 catalog lists a total of~2672 RASS matches.
The infrared information is provided by the
2MASS All-Sky Data Release Point Source Catalog (Cutri et al.~2003).
The DR3 Quasar Catalog contains the $JHK$ photometric measurements of
6192 SDSS-2MASS matches (maximum positional offset of~2$''$).
Figures~7a, 7b, and~7c show the distribution of the positional offsets for
the FIRST, RASS, and 2MASS matches, respectively. The three histograms are
quite similar in shape to the offset distributions found in Paper~II.
The number of chance superpositions between the DR3 Quasar Catalog and the
FIRST and RASS datasets were
estimated by shifting the quasar positions by~{$\pm 200''$.} As was found
in Paper~II, virtually all the FIRST identifications are correct
(an average of two~FIRST ``matches" was found after declination shifting),
while approximately one percent of the {\it ROSAT} matches are
misidentifications
(an average of 20~{\it ROSAT} ``matches" was found after shifting).
\subsection{Redshift Disagreements with Previous Measurements}
The redshifts of~45 quasars in this catalog disagree by more than~0.10
from the values given in the NED database; the information for each
of these objects is given in Table~6 (four of the entries are differences
between the DR1 and DR3 quasar catalogs). A NED name of ``SDSS" indicates
that the NED entry is taken from a previous SDSS publication. The
relatively large
number of apparent discrepancies with previous SDSS measurements arises because
the NED redshift for these objects
is frequently the redshift given in the SDSS data release
and not from the quasar catalogs. For example, the second entry in Table~6
was included in both the EDR and DR1 Quasar Catalogs with the correct redshift,
but the NED value was the redshift reported in the EDR itself.
In every case we believe that the redshifts quoted
in this catalog are more consistent with the SDSS spectra than are
the NED values.
\section{Future Work}
The 46,420 quasars were identified from~$\approx$~40\% of the proposed
SDSS survey area. The progress of the SDSS Quasar Survey can be seen in
Figure~7d, which displays the cumulative number of SDSS quasars
as a function of observing date. There are yearly ``plateaus" in this figure
which coincide with late summer/fall; at this time of the year the
North Galactic Pole region is unavailable. The primary spectroscopic
survey of the South Galactic Pole is now complete; observations in this region
now consist
of additional imaging scans (to reach fainter magnitudes; see York et al.~2000)
and a series of specialized spectroscopic programs (e.g., empirical
determination of the effectiveness of the SDSS quasar selection;
Vanden Berk et al.~2005).
Investigations of the quasar luminosity function and the spatial distribution
of quasars based on SDSS data are given in Richards et al.~(2005)
and Yahata et al.~(2005).
We plan to publish the
next edition of the SDSS quasar catalog with the SDSS
Fifth Data Release, which is currently expected to occur in~2006.
\acknowledgments
We thank the referee, Buell Jannuzi, for a number of suggestions that
improved the paper.
This work was supported in part by National Science Foundation grants
AST-0307582 (DPS, DVB), AST-0307384~(XF), and
AST-0307409~(MAS), and by
NASA LTSA grant NAG5-13035 and CXC grant GO3-4117X (WNB, DPS).
XF acknowledges support from an \hbox{Alfred P. Sloan} Fellowship and
a David and Lucile Packard Fellowship in Science and Engineering.
SJ and CS were supported by the U.S. Department of Energy under contract
\hbox{DE-AC02-76CH03000.}
Funding for the creation and distribution of the SDSS Archive
has been provided by the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation, the
Participating Institutions, the National Aeronautics and Space
Administration, the National Science Foundation, the U.S.
Department of Energy, the Japanese Monbukagakusho, and the
Max Planck Society.
The SDSS Web site \hbox{is {\tt http://www.sdss.org/}.}
The SDSS is managed by the Astrophysical Research Consortium
(ARC) for the Participating Institutions. The Participating
Institutions are
The University of Chicago,
Fermilab,
the Institute for Advanced Study,
the Japan Participation Group,
The Johns Hopkins University,
the Korean Scientist Group,
Los Alamos National Laboratory,
the Max-Planck-Institute for Astronomy (MPIA),
the Max-Planck-Institute for Astrophysics (MPA),
New Mexico State University,
University of Pittsburgh,
University of Portsmouth,
Princeton University,
the United States Naval Observatory,
and the University of Washington.
This research has made use of 1)~the NASA/IPAC Extragalactic Database (NED)
which is operated by the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, California Institute
of Technology, under contract with the National Aeronautics and Space
Administration, and 2)~data products from the Two Micron All Sky
Survey, which is a joint project of the University of
Massachusetts and the Infrared Processing and Analysis Center/California
Institute of Technology, funded by the National Aeronautics
and Space Administration and the National Science Foundation.
The Hobby-Eberly Telescope (HET) is a joint project of the University of Texas
at Austin,
the Pennsylvania State University, Stanford University,
Ludwig-Maximillians-Universit\"at M\"unchen, and Georg-August-Universit\"at
G\"ottingen. The HET is named in honor of its principal benefactors,
William P. Hobby and Robert E. Eberly. The Marcario Low-Resolution
Spectrograph is named for Mike Marcario of High Lonesome Optics, who
fabricated several optics for the instrument but died before its completion;
it is a joint project of the Hobby-Eberly Telescope partnership and the
Instituto de Astronom\'{\i}a de la Universidad Nacional Aut\'onoma de M\'exico.
\clearpage
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 6,914 |
Q: Why `WM_CHAR` sends keys combinations and is it safe to use them? I am writing an input field control and currently have developed ctrl+c and ctrl+v logic.
I know that there is WM_KEYDOWN, but I notice (long before) that WM_CHAR actually gives different WPARAM values when I press, for example, c key on the keyboard, depending on have I pressed ctrl. And of course it is way more easier to deal with, instead of handling whether ctrl was pressed or released using WM_KEYDOWN and WM_KEYUP.
What is confusing me is, obviously why it happens in WM_CHAR at all, and most important the WPARAM value itself - if I just press c it is 99, which is correct, and if I press c with ctrl pressed it is 3 which is ETX (end of text).
So can be there a case when, say, depending on the keyboard layout (although I tested for eng, ru and ua - all the same), WM_CHAR will have not 3 in WPARAM for ctrl+c?
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,622 |
Can't Wait for August Releases
There are some great books out this month that I am very excited to get my hands on plus some from authors I love but I'm not caught up in their series yet to read them.
Defiant by M.J. Haag
A dark, twisted Cinderella retelling that fans of Sarah J. Maas and/or Melanie Dickerson are sure to enjoy.
Magic can have deadly consequences.
When the sudden and suspicious death of Eloise's mother points to forbidden magic, Eloise is determined to bring her mother's murderer to justice. She will stop at nothing to find the killer…even if the clues lead right to the palace gates and the prince's manservant, Kaven. He is irrational, volatile, and prone to knocking women off horses. Given his personality, it should be easy to find the proof she needs to place him in irons.
However, when dark magic is used, nothing is as simple as it seems, and Eloise is about to learn that nightmares often hide behind fairy tale lives.
The Wallflower Wager by Tessa Dare
They call him the Duke of Ruin.
To an undaunted wallflower, he's just the beast next door.
Wealthy and ruthless, Gabriel Duke clawed his way from the lowliest slums to the pinnacle of high society—and now he wants to get even.
Loyal and passionate, Lady Penelope Campion never met a lost or wounded creature she wouldn't take into her home and her heart.
When her imposing—and attractive—new neighbor demands she clear out the rescued animals, Penny sets him a challenge. She will part with her precious charges, if he can find them loving homes.
Done, Gabriel says. How hard can it be to find homes for a few kittens?
And a two-legged dog.
And a foul-mouthed parrot.
And a goat, an otter, a hedgehog . . .
Easier said than done, for a cold-blooded bastard who wouldn't know a loving home from a workhouse. Soon he's covered in cat hair, knee-deep in adorable, and bewitched by a shyly pretty spinster who defies his every attempt to resist. Now she's set her mind and heart on saving him.
Not if he ruins her first.
Butterfly in Frost by Sylvia Day
Once, I would never have imagined myself here. But I'm settled now. In a place I love, in a home I renovated, spending time with new friends I adore, and working a job that fulfills me. I am reconciling the past and laying the groundwork for the future.
Then Garrett Frost moves in next door.
He's obstinate and too bold, a raging force of nature that disrupts the careful order of my life. I recognize the ghosts that haunt him, the torment driving him. Garrett would be risky in any form, but wounded, he's far more dangerous. I fear I'm too fragile for the storm raging inside him, too delicate to withstand the pain that buffets him. But he's too determined…and too tempting.
And sometimes hope soars above even the iciest desolation.
Tidelands by Phillipa Gregory
England 1648. A dangerous time for a woman to be different . . .
Midsummer's Eve, 1648, and England is in the grip of civil war between renegade King and rebellious Parliament. The struggle reaches every corner of the kingdom, even to the remote Tidelands – the marshy landscape of the south coast.
Alinor, a descendant of wise women, crushed by poverty and superstition, waits in the graveyard under the full moon for a ghost who will declare her free from her abusive husband. Instead she meets James, a young man on the run, and shows him the secret ways across the treacherous marsh, not knowing that she is leading disaster into the heart of her life.
Suspected of possessing dark secrets in superstitious times, Alinor's ambition and determination mark her out from her neighbours. This is the time of witch-mania, and Alinor, a woman without a husband, skilled with herbs, suddenly enriched, arouses envy in her rivals and fear among the villagers, who are ready to take lethal action into their own hands.
These are some books released by authors I love but that I'm not current with the series.
Sapphire Flames by Ilona Andrews
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Ilona Andrews comes an enthralling new trilogy set in the Hidden Legacy world, where magic means power, and family bloodlines are the new currency of society…
In a world where magic is the key to power and wealth, Catalina Baylor is a Prime, the highest rank of magic user, and the Head of her House. Catalina has always been afraid to use her unique powers, but when her friend's mother and sister are murdered, Catalina risks her reputation and safety to unravel the mystery.
But behind the scenes powerful forces are at work, and one of them is Alessandro Sagredo, the Italian Prime who was once Catalina's teenage crush. Dangerous and unpredictable, Alessandro's true motives are unclear, but he's drawn to Catalina like a moth to a flame.
To help her friend, Catalina must test the limits of her extraordinary powers, but doing so may cost her both her House–and her heart.
Blood Truth by J.R. Ward
The #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Savior brings you the next sizzling and passionate paranormal romance in the Black Dagger Legacy series.
As a trainee in the Black Dagger Brotherhood's program, Boone has triumphed as a soldier and now fights side by side with the Brothers. Following his sire's unexpected death, he is taken off rotation against his protests—and he finds himself working with Butch O'Neal, former homicide cop, to catch a serial killer: Someone is targeting females of the species at a live action role play club. When the Brotherhood is called in to help, Boone insists on being a part of the effort—and the last thing he expects is to meet an enticing, mysterious female…who changes his life forever.
Ever since her sister was murdered at the club, Helaine has been committed to finding the killer, no matter the danger she faces. When she crosses paths with Boone, she doesn't know whether to trust him or not—and then she has no choice. As she herself becomes a target, and someone close to the Brotherhood is identified as the prime suspect, the two must work to together to solve the mystery…before it's too late. Will a madman come between the lovers or will true love and goodness triumph over a very mortal evil?
Knitting in the City Knitting Patterns by Penny Reid
27 knitting patterns based on the Knitting in the City Series by Penny Reid.
August 14, 2019 August 13, 2019 Elaine HowlinNew Releasesanticipated releases, new books 2019, new books august, New Releases
3 thoughts on "Can't Wait for August Releases"
OwlBeSatReading
Ooh I like the sound of Tidelands 😊
shelleyrae @ Book'd Out
I'm reading Tidelands next week 🙂
September New Book Releases – Elaine Howlin – Literary Blogger
[…] RELATED: August New Releases […]
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"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
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\section{INTRODUCTION}\label{sec:intro}
To quantify the difference between samples that are regarded as statistical events,
one can rely in statistical distances.
Such distances are often not metrics, cases in which they do not satify one or more of
the properties of a metric $m$ on samples $x_i \in X$:
\begin{align}
m(x_i,x_j) & \geq 0 \\
m(x_i,x_j) & = 0 \Leftrightarrow x_i = x_j \\
m(x_i,x_j) & = m(x_j,x_i)\\
m(x_i,x_j) & \leq m(x_i,x_z) + m(x_z,x_j)
\end{align}
Pseudometrics violate property (1) and/or (2),
quasimetrics violate property (3),
semimetrics violate property (4).
A divergence only satisfies properties (1) and (2).
These are ``generalized metrics''~\citep{wikiStatDist}.
In this article, a statistical distance $c'$ derived from the
Kolmogorov-Smirnov test is described.
The $c'$ statistic can be both a true or a generalized metric,
depending on the implementation details, as explained in Section~\ref{sec:desc}.
To enable the use of the $c'$ metric,
benchmarks are provided
by using standard distributions in various settings and sample sizes.
Example applications of the metric to quantify the difference among
real signals further validate the approach.
Section~\ref{sec:met} describes the metric
and the methods used to characterize it.
Section~\ref{sec:res} is dedicated to
summarizing the results and essential discussions.
Final remarks, including potential future works,
are stated in Section~\ref{sec:conc}.
\section{METHODS}\label{sec:met}
This section describes the $c'$ statistical distance,
the strategy of benchmarking and the validation of $c'$ by means
of application to real samples.
\subsection{Description of the $c'$ statistic}\label{sec:desc}
Be $F$ and $F'$ two empirical cumulative distributions,
where $n$ and $n'$ are the number of observations in each sample.
The two-sample Kolmogorov-Smirnov test rejects the null hypothesis,
that the histograms are the outcome of the same underlying distribution,
if:
\begin{equation}\label{eq:ks}
D_{F,F'} > c(\alpha)\sqrt{\frac{n+n'}{nn'}}
\end{equation}
\noindent where $D_{F,F'}=sup_x[F-F']$ as in Figure~\ref{fig:dnn}
and $c(\alpha)$ is related to the level of significance $\alpha$ by:
\begin{table}[h!]
\centering
\begin{tabular}{|l||c|c|c|c|c|c|}\hline
$\alpha$ & 0.1 & 0.05 & 0.025 & 0.01 & 0.005 & 0.001 \\\hline
$c(\alpha)$ & 1.22 & 1.36 & 1.48 & 1.63 & 1.73 & 1.95 \\\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{table}
If distributions are drawn from empirical data, $D_{F,F'}$ is given as are $n$ and $n'$.
All terms in equation~\ref{eq:ks} are positive and $c(\alpha)$ can be isolated:
\begin{equation}\label{eq:ks2}
c(\alpha) < D_{F,F'}\sqrt{\frac{nn'}{n+n'}} = c'
\end{equation}
The higher $c'$ is, the lower $\alpha$ can be and still entail the rejection of the null hypothesis.
\begin{figure}[!htbp]
\vspace{-2pt}
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=0.44\textwidth]{./figs/Dnn}
\caption{The Kolmogorov-Smirnov statistic $D_{F,F'}$: the maximum difference between
two cumulative distribution functions.}
\label{fig:dnn}
\end{center}
\end{figure}
In summary,
high values of $c'$ favor rejecting the null hypothesis.
For example, if the significance level is $\alpha=0.01$,
then $c'$ greater than $1.7$
implies the rejection of the null hypothesis,
i.e. implies the assumption that $F$ and $F'$
are outcomes of different distributions.
Of core importance in this study is to regard $c'$
as a measure of distance between both distributions.
If fact, it is a statistical distance.
Following the concepts defined in Section~\ref{sec:intro},
it can be both a true or a generalized metric, depending on the implementation.
It obviously satisfies the Equations (1) and (3).
It satisfies Equation (4) for less obvious reasons.
To grasp how $c'$ satisfies Equation (4),
let $x_i$, $x_j$ and $x_z$ be samples of the same size,
so we only need to compare the $D_{F,F'}$.
Let $F_i$ be the cumulative distribution of the sample $x_i$.
Supose that in the value $\xi$ of X where $F_i$ and $F_j$ are maximally different (i.e. where they yield $D_{F_i,F_j}$),
they are also maximaly different against $F_z$.
If the value of $F_z(\xi)$ is between $F_x(\xi)$ and $F_j(\xi)$:
$D_{F_i,F_z}+D_{F_j,F_z} = D_{F_i,F_j}$,
otherwise:
$D_{F_i,F_z}+D_{F_j,F_z} > D_{F_i,F_j}$.
If the KS statistic $D_{F,F'}$ are not yield at the same value,
it is because they are larger than in the previous cases, thus:
$D_{F_i,F_z}+D_{F_j,F_z} > D_{F_i,F_j}$.
And this completes the argument for:
$D_{F_i,F_z}+D_{F_j,F_z} \geq D_{F_i,F_j}$.
The $c'$ statistic might satisfy or violate Equation (2),
depending on how it is achieved.
If the obtainance of $c'$ depends on making histograms,
than a slightly different observation of a sample might fall under the same bin.
In this case, $c'=m(x_i,x_j) = 0$ and $x_i \neq x_j$, which violates (2)\footnote{If
we instead regard $x_i$ as a histogram, not a sample,
then it satifies (2), but we here assume that $c'$
is in fact a measure related to samples.}.
The cumulative distributions might be derived, however,
not by making a histogram, but simply by ordering the samples~\citep{stack}.
In this case, $c'$ satifies (2).
One exception: if $x_j$ has twice each of the observations in $x_i$,
then it violates (2)
because the distributions entailed by the samples are the same,
but the samples are not the same, and the distance is still zero.
In summary, if $c'$ can be classified both as a metric and a pseudometric,
depending on how it is obtained and theoretical nuances.
\subsection{Benchmarks obtainance}
We considered two cases: when the null hypothesis (that the samples were drawn from the same underlying distributions)
is true and when it is false.
For the case where the null hypothesis is true,
we compared similar distributions in various settings
many times to assert that we would not assume
that the null hypothesis was false more than
$\alpha . N_c$ where $\alpha$ is the significance level
and $N_c$ is the number of comparisons.
That is, to assert that the Kolmogorov-Smirnov test results
are in accordance with the theory.
In the case where the null hypothesis was false,
we were interested in measures of $c'$ given that
the null hypothesis is never rejected for a small enough
$\alpha$.
The various measures performed for $c'$ are
described in the results.
One important aspect of the way by which we made the
benchmarks available is that the rendering of the tables
is automated by configurable scripts,
allowing one to obtain tables with other measures
and other comparisons.
\section{RESULTS AND DISCUSSION}\label{sec:res}
This section briefly describes each of the
results, which are: benchmark tables, example uses of $c'$ in
real samples, an exposition of all the data obtained,
and configurable scripts for the generation of all reference tables.
\subsection{When the null hypothesis is true}\label{sec:true}
The theory of the Kolmogorov-Smirnov test
states that one can choose a significance level $\alpha$,
which is the maximum probability that one will reject the
null hypothesis when it is true.
Accordingly,
we rendered tables for each of the distributions:
normal, uniform, 1-parameter Weibull, power function.
Three to five different settings of each of the distributions
were used, both samples had a size of 1000 observations,
and $N_c=100$ comparisons were performed.
Table~\ref{tab:true} is one of such tables.
To understand the columns, notice that
if the null hypothesis is true, the number
of rejections of the null hypothesis ($c'>c(\alpha)$)
in $N_c$ comparisons should not exceed $\alpha . N_c$.
To verify this, let $C=\{c'_i\}$ be a set of $c'$ measures,
and $C(\alpha)=\{c' : c'>c(\alpha)\}$.
Be $|C(\alpha)|$ the cardinality of $C(\alpha)$,
i.e. the number of comparisons in which the two-sample Kolmogorov-Smirnov
test rejects the null hypothesis for a given $\alpha$.
The overall result is that, in fact, the false rejections of the null hypothesis
does not exceed $\alpha . N_c$.
The only exception in our simulations is the power-law (or power function) distribution,
in which the number of rejections of the null hypothesis were usually bellow $\alpha . N_c$
but, in extreme cases, our simulations reached almost $2\alpha N_c$.
\input{./tables/tabWeibullNull_Foo}
\subsection{When the null hypothesis is false}\label{sec:false}
In this case we are interested in measures of $c'$.
The number of comparisons is still $N_c=100$.
The measures on $c'$ chosen to report the results are:
the mean $\mu(c')$, the standard deviation $\sigma(c')$,
the median $m(c')$,
the fraction
$\overline{C(\alpha)}=\frac{|C(\alpha)|}{N_c}$
of rejection of the null hypothesis given the significance level $\alpha$,
$min(c')$ which states the three smallest values found in the simulations while
$max(c')$ states the three greatest values.
The null hypothesis is true in the boldface lines.
$D$ is the KS statistic when sample size is very large.
Two sets of tables were made to study the $c'$ statistic when
the null hypothesis is false:
\begin{itemize}
\item Changing the distributions: in each table, the comparisons were made with
one of the distributions remaining unchanged
while the other changes in each row.
Table~\ref{tab:false1} is an example of such table.
\item Changing the sample sizes:
changing the number of elements in each sample
changes the value of the $c'$ statistic.
Thus, $c'$ is given for two samples of varied sizes but
with fixed underlying distributions.
Table~\ref{tab:false2} is an example of such table.
\end{itemize}
\input{./tables/tabPowerDiffShape_Foo}
\input{./tables/tabNormalDiffSamples2_Foo}
\subsection{Example application to real samples}
To further validate the $c'$ statistic and enable deeper insights,
a number of applications to real samples were performed:
\begin{itemize}
\item Texts: Hamlet (Shakespeare), the Bible (KJV), Moby Dick (Herman Melville) and Esaú e Jacó (Machado de Assis),
where studied by regarding the stopwords and the words which were not stopwords.
Each of these works were considered as a whole and divided in the first and second half.
These texts were used to obtain samples that are:
the mean of the token sizes, the standard variation of the token sizes,
the token sizes.
For the two first samples, the text was divided into 1000 parts in which the means
and standard variations were obtained and regarded as the observations.
The overall result is: smaller $c'$ for comparisons between parts of the same text
although high $c'$ was incident even between parts of the same book (especially for the Bible,
probably because of great differences between the New and Old Testaments).
\item Audio: the audio segments for testing the sound system of an Ubuntu Linux distribution
were considered both by their PCM samples and by their Daubechies 8 wavelet coefficients.
The segments yielded higher $c'$ values as the audio held greater differences, e.g. yield by different words
or noise.
\item Music: each classical composition was regarded as a sample
and the pitches were regarded as observations.
The results reflect music history.
For example, measures of $c'$ involving Palestrina
increases along time with the exception of Beethoven
who, indeed, used modalism.
The values of $c'$ related to Bach also increases along time,
and the outcome of the comparison against Palestrina
is only exceeded when Sch\"onberg is reached,
which reflects the non-tonal discourse of both
Palestrina and Sch\"onberg.
Table~\ref{tab:mus} exposes these results.
\item OS status: workload of the CPUs and memory allocation of the most consuming processes.
Again, the type of samples are mandatory:
they might all be identified by the values of $c'$
found in comparison against other samples,
with the exception of the RAM memory.
\end{itemize}
\input{./tables/musicDistances_Foo}
\subsection{A thorough exposition of the tables}
These results yield many tables which do not fit this article and would make
this exposition clumsy.
Their thorough exposition are in~\cite{ksstats},
with all the tables and descriptions.
\subsection{Scripts for automated generation of the tables}
The tables that are benchmarks and that result from comparing real samples
are rendered by scripts.
These scripts are configurable, i.e. might be set to render other tables if needed.
Once the new tables are rendered, they might be assembled into a PDF by means
of the latex files that yield~\cite{ksstats}.
\section{CONCLUSIONS AND FURTHER WORK}\label{sec:conc}
This exposition described the $c'$ statistical distance,
the benchmark tables for $c'$ and its use to observe differences in real samples.
As far as I understand, the tables are effective in exposing reference
values in various settings of various distributions.
The Kolmogorv-Smirnov test, from which $c'$ is derived, is known
to be robust in the sense that it is usable even when the underlying distributions
are not known or present problems for other tests.
The overall result is that we obtained a statistical distance which is
useful in various contexts and have now benchmark tables.
Potential next steps are:
\begin{itemize}
\item better organize the scripts that render the benchmark tables,
because they are scattered in the \texttt{tests/} directory
of~\cite{gmaneLegacy}.
\item Make a better presentation of the benchmark tables in~\cite{ksstats}.
They are sound but were made for personal usage and might be enhanced
by better descriptions and contextualization.
\item Use other distributions for obtaining the tables.
This is relevant mainly because the number of rejections of the null hypothesis
was sometimes higher that expected for the significance level in power-law distributions.
\item Compare $c'$ to other statistical distances: in which cases are they suitable, preferable and
what results they yield.
\item Give a more formal account of the conditions needed for $c'$ to be considered a metric
and for the cases where $c'$ does not satisfy Equation (2).
\item Obtain reference values of $c'$ for simulations where the null hypothesis is true.
\end{itemize}
\noindent Finally, the most urgent developments this contribution needs are:
1) a description of the differences in $c'$ in the cases of continuous and discrete distributions;
and 2) implement these measurements without using histograms because they are not needed to
attain the cumulative distribution used for the Kolmogorov-Smirnov statistic and because
$c'$ might be regarded as a metric (not a generalized metric) if obtained without using histograms,
as exposed in Section~\ref{sec:desc}.
\subsection*{\textit{Acknowledgements}}
The author thanks CNPq for the funding received while researching the topic of this article,
the researchers of IFSC/USP and ICMC/USP for the recurrent collaboration in every situation
where we needed directions for investigation.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 7,684 |
When I'm having a pedicure, I always feel like I need to entertain the lady to distract her from the battlefield she's dealing with. Ever since I was a child, I was a runner so you can imagine that my nails have suffered from running in inappropriate shoes. Now, I could only run to save my life so no treadmill for me, thank you!
Then dancing, and especially dancing without shoes was a killer. Let's just put it like this: I will never be a foot model. When I've tried my first pair of pointe shoes I thought that they were the most beautiful torture instruments I have worn in my life but then, there was not much damage to do to my feet anymore.
I am in no way a ballerina! I did have classical ballet training with a few wonderful teachers, but I started a bit too late and I was distracted by the more psychological style – contemporary dance. I bought my first pair of pointe shoes to start training more seriously but, as you might have heard, it is safer to have a few years of technique behind when you start using the pointe shoes. These ones were the Debutante from Sansha. I bought them at the suggestion of my then teacher so I didn't know much about styles and how to find the perfect one for the shape of your feet.
Officially, my first pair of pointe shoes are dead, but long live the new ones. Google maps was the one suggesting me to go to the Bloch store that was really close to the Royal Opera House, so I thought it must be a good one. I got there and I was awestruck, a child in candy-land! So many pink satin beautiful torture machines! I had something that I've never had before: a fitting! Which makes sense now that I know what to look for in a pointe shoes. The sales assistant (who was a ballerina) asked me to go to the barre and tendu to the side, plie and releve to see how arched my feet are so that she will try shoes that are more or less flexible, accordingly. Gladly, she was a perfectionist so we tried 5 styles until we've found the right one. Let me tell you, every single style that I tried for beginners was hurting so badly. She wanted a tapered style for me because I have what you would call an Egyptian style of feet where the big toe is the biggest. Just when we were about to give up and try the boxier style that I had before, she had an idea to try another tapered style even though it was for intermediates. And these were the winners: Triomphe…well yes, literally! These were as comfortable as a pointe shoe can get and because of the tapered style, my body weight was dispersed on all my toes, not just my big one.
I guess it is safe to say that you will be seeing more and more pictures on pointe shoes, especially on my Instagram, which in case you don't follow, I believe you should;). Do you like these or prefer normal shoes? | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 9,381 |
New coronavirus cases in US jails heighten concerns about an unprepared system
By David Shortell and Kara Scannell, CNN
Updated 4:18 PM EDT, Fri March 20, 2020
In this June 20, 2014, file photo, the Rikers Island jail complex stands in New York with the Manhattan skyline in the background.
Seth Wenig/AP
The first known presumptive cases of coronavirus in the federal correctional system emerged Wednesday as the number of infected inmates and staffers at local facilities across the country continued to climb, heightening concerns about the spread of the pandemic within the tight quarters housing the nation's inmates.
Between Tuesday and Wednesday, a staffer at a medium security federal prison in Berlin, New Hampshire, and an employee at a Bureau of Prisons administrative facility in Grand Prairie, Texas, were presumed to have the illness, said Sue Allison, an agency spokeswoman.
A court house in New Rochelle, New York
Mark Morales/CNN
In hardest-hit states, coronavirus is grinding justice to a halt
Local authorities said Wednesday that corrections officers in New York and Georgia had caught the virus, as well as an inmate at New York City's Rikers Island, marking the first case at the notorious jail. In Arizona, the state's Department of Corrections said Wednesday that it would give inmates free hand soap after an advocacy group exposed a lack of cleaning supplies at local prisons and appealed to a federal judge to intervene.
The developments come as some prison staffers have voiced worries about an unprepared system, with officials citing short staffing and a lack of proper protective equipment. Criminal justice advocates have also called for the release of certain nonviolent offenders, including those who may be at greater risk from the virus, while high-profile inmates including Michael Cohen and Michael Avenatti have asked to be released.
In Italy, where the virus has taken an especially devastating toll, nearly a dozen inmates died in prison riots spurred across the country by the pandemic, the Italian Justice Ministry said Tuesday. Dozens more escaped.
The federal Bureau of Prisons on Friday moved to an advanced defensive posture, temporarily blocking social visitors as well as lawyers in most circumstances from visiting inmates at the system's 122 facilities across the country. Local facilities, where most of the nation's prison population is housed, have also taken steps to lock down buildings and narrow the possibility of the virus making it inside.
On Wednesday, the Bureau of Prisons notified local health officials about the two cases and began an internal risk assessment to determine who might have been exposed to the infected workers, according to Allison.
The challenge of cramped cell blocks and routine gatherings
Despite recent staffing shortfalls, the Bureau of Prisons remains one of the largest federal law enforcement agencies, with some 36,000 workers. More than 175,000 federal inmates are currently serving sentences in Bureau of Prisons facilities as well as privately managed facilities, according to the agency.
Cramped cell blocks and routine gatherings among inmate populations have made the recommended social distancing policies a challenge at some facilities, and the Bureau of Prisons has responded by staggering mealtimes and recreation in certain areas.
While new inmates have continued to report to prisons throughout the crisis, the Bureau of Prisons has suspended internal inmate transfers between facilities to try to minimize the spread of possible infections.
Still, this week, a group of detainees from an Immigration and Customs Enforcement facility were moved into a federal prison in Tallahassee, Florida, evoking protests from some prison workers. Even worse, two employees told CNN, the facility has a shortage of personal protective equipment, like masks and gloves, for staffers.
Kristan Morgan, a vice president in the local prison workers union who's a nurse practitioner at the Tallahassee prison, took the temperature of the new inmates without wearing a mask because she was unable to track one down in her size. Several of the transferred prisoners ran low-grade fevers, she said.
"It's pretty nerve-wracking with everything that's going on. You don't know who's infected with what," Morgan said.
Morgan and another local union official said prison supervisors had since sent for more protective equipment, but the items were on back order and it was unclear when they would be delivered.
Allison, the Bureau of Prisons spokeswoman, said Wednesday that the agency was updating its guidance on internal inmate movements "to provide clarification."
As part of its "Pandemic Influenza contingency plan," Allison said, "all cleaning, sanitation, and medical supplies have been inventoried at every one of its 122 BOP facilities, and an ample amount of supply is on hand and ready to be distributed or moved to any facility as deemed necessary."
After an inmate and corrections officer assigned to the security gate at Rikers both tested positive for the virus within 24 hours, the president of the New York City Correction Officers' Benevolent Association urged the city to implement extreme contingency plans.
"If we are not provided with the specific masks and hand sanitizers we need, if we are not changing how new intakes are being admitted, if we are not putting the safety of our members first, then this crisis will grow worse with each passing day. Give us the help we need now!" Elias Husamudeen said in a statement Wednesday.
New York City's Department of Correction confirmed the case in a statement Wednesday evening, adding that the detainee had been removed from the general population and was being "closely monitored" by health officials. Corrections authorities were working with the jail's health system to identify and notify other individuals who may have come into close contact with the inmate, the agency said.
On Sunday, a city Department of Correction investigator died following a positive test for coronavirus, the agency's commissioner said in a statement earlier this week.
"As we endure this loss to our community, we will continue to do everything to keep our facilities safe for everyone," the commissioner, Cynthia Brann, said on Monday, adding that they were working to notify anyone who had been in close contact with the investigator.
Across the country, advocacy groups and reform-minded prosecutors have also called for the release of a variety of inmates, including prisoners who can't afford cash bail, those held on probation violations and nonviolent prisoners at greater risk from the virus because of their ages or health status.
On Tuesday, 31 state and local prosecutors – including the Manhattan, San Francisco, Philadelphia and Dallas County district attorneys – signed on to a statement imploring officials to order the releases.
"We must act now to reduce the existing detained populations and incarcerate fewer people moving forward. In doing so, we can not only help to reduce the spread of infection but also bring home people who no longer present a safety risk to their communities," said Miriam Krinsky, the executive director of Fair and Just Prosecution, the group that arranged the statement.
Some cities have already begun taking action. Los Angeles County Sheriff Alex Villanueva announced on Monday that the county had lowered its prison population by hundreds over two weeks, while reducing the average number of daily arrests from 300 to about 60.
In Cleveland, more than 200 inmates have been released from the Cuyahoga County Jail since Friday. Some of the low-level, nonviolent inmates were released on probation or had their bonds reduced to manageable levels, while others were sent to the Ohio Department of Corrections prison, the court told CNN on Monday.
High-profile convicts petition judges to be released
Defense attorneys have also painted a picture of inmates being deprived of basic hygiene.
On Monday, an attorney who had visited the Arizona State Prison Complex Florence last week told a federal judge in the state that inmates "were not provided any disinfectant cleaning supplies to clean their cells or personal bed space, but rather were told to use their personal supplies of shampoo or soap to clean hard surfaces," according to a court filing from the American Civil Liberties Union of Arizona and the Arizona Center for Disability Law that asked the judge to require the state prison system to develop and implement a plan to handle the virus.
In response, the Arizona Department of Corrections on Wednesday waived the $4 copay that inmates are charged for health services for anyone experiencing flu-like symptoms. Inmates will also be given free hand soap until further notice, and the prison stopped internal movements of inmates between prison complexes.
Fear of the virus hasn't been confined only to needy inmates: Some of the country's most high-profile convicts have attempted to have their sentences cut short as a result of the pandemic.
On Tuesday, the attorney for President Donald Trump's former fixer, Michael Cohen, wrote to US District Judge William Pauley asking the court to reconsider Cohen's motion for a sentence reduction in light of the coronavirus' "enhanced risk" to inmates and "the Bureau of Prisons being demonstrably incapable of safeguarding and treating B.O.P. inmates who are obliged to live in close quarters and are at an enhanced risk of catching coronavirus."
Cohen is serving a three-year sentence at an Otisville, New York, federal prison after being convicted of tax and campaign finance crimes.
A lawyer for Michael Avenatti visited the celebrity attorney on Friday for five hours at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in lower Manhattan and said the jail was "completely unprepared" for the coronavirus outbreak.
There was no hand sanitizer at the facility, said Dean Steward, the attorney, and he wasn't asked any perfunctory questions, such as whether he had traveled to any heavily impacted countries recently. Steward's visit came just before the Bureau of Prisons announced the temporary ban on most attorney visits.
Avenatti's lawyers filed a motion Wednesday asking for Avenatti to be released on bail because his 65-year-old cellmate had been recently removed from his cell after he came down with a fever and a cough.
"That's a small indicator of a big problem," Steward said. "I'm putting together a motion to get him out on bail based almost exclusively on the illness factor and how bad it's going to be once a person gets it in there. A guard or somebody will get it; it will be a horror show."
Steward said that Avenatti, who was imprisoned after his bail was revoked following his conviction on charges that he had attempted to extort more than $20 million from Nike, doesn't have any symptoms. Avenatti is awaiting sentencing and two additional trials – another in New York and one in Los Angeles.
"He's thinner than the last time I saw him," Steward said. "Otherwise, the usual Avenatti fighting spirit is there."
UDATE: This story is updated with new information from the Bureau of Prisons about their employees' virus tests.
CNN's Erica Orden and Mark Morales contributed to this report. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 7,249 |
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For father and daughter, Richard and Felicity Jemmett
No journey is impossible. It only takes a single step forward.
## LIST OF CHARACTERS
ATLANTIS
Pa Salt—the sisters' adoptive father (deceased)
Marina (Ma)—the sisters' guardian
Claudia—housekeeper at Atlantis
Georg Hoffman—Pa Salt's lawyer
Christian—the skipper
THE D'APLIÈSE SISTERS
Maia
Ally (Alcyone)
Star (Asterope)
CeCe (Celaeno)
Tiggy (Taygete)
Electra
Merope (missing)
## CECE
December 2007
Aboriginal symbol for a human track
## 1
I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard that my father had died, I thought to myself as I stared out of the window and saw the complete blackness of night. Intermittently below me, there were small clusters of twinkling lights indicating human habitation, each light containing a life, a family, a set of friends . . .
None of which I felt I had any longer.
It was almost like seeing the world upside down, because the lights below the plane resembled less brilliant facsimiles of the stars above me. This reminded me of the fact that one of my tutors at art college had once told me that I painted as if I couldn't see what was in front of me. He was right. I couldn't. The pictures appeared in my mind, not in reality. Often, they didn't take animal, mineral, or even human form, but the images were strong, and I always felt compelled to follow them through.
Like that great pile of junk I'd collected from scrap yards around London and housed in my studio at the apartment. I had spent weeks trying to work out exactly how all the pieces should be placed together. It was like working on a giant Rubik's Cube, though the raw ingredients were comprised of a smelly oil can, an old Guy Fawkes scarecrow, a tire, and a rusting metal pickax. I'd constantly moved the bits into place, happy right up until I added that last vital piece, which always—wherever I put it—seemed to ruin the entire installation.
I laid my hot brow against the cool Perspex of the window, which was all that separated me and everyone else on the plane from asphyxiation and certain death.
We are so vulnerable . . .
No, CeCe, I cautioned myself harshly as panic rose inside me, you can do this without her, you really can.
I forced my thoughts back to Pa Salt, because given my ingrained fear of flying, thinking about the moment I heard he'd died was—in a weird way—comforting. If the worst happened and the plane dropped from the sky, killing us all, at least he might be there on the other side, waiting for me. He'd already made the journey up there, after all. And he'd made it alone, as we all did.
I'd been pulling on my jeans when the call had come from my younger sister Tiggy, telling me that Pa Salt was dead. Looking back now, I was pretty sure that none of what she said really sank in. All I could think of was how I'd tell Star, who had adored our father. I knew she would be totally devastated.
You adored him too, CeCe . . .
And I had. Since my role in life was to protect my more vulnerable sister—she was actually three months older than me but she'd found it difficult to speak, so I'd always spoken for her—I'd sealed up my heart, zipped up my jeans, then walked into the sitting room to tell her.
She'd said nothing, just wept in my arms. I'd done everything I could to keep my own tears at bay. For her, for Star. I'd had to be strong because she'd needed me . . .
That was then . . .
"Madam, is there something you need?"
A cloud of musky perfume descended from above me. I looked up and saw the stewardess leaning over me.
"Er, no thanks."
"You pressed the call bell," she said in an exaggerated whisper, indicating the rest of the passengers, who were all asleep. After all, it was four in the morning, London time.
"Sorry," I whispered back, as I removed my offending elbow from the button that had alerted her. Typical. She gave me the kind of nod I remembered one of my teachers had given me when she'd seen me opening my eyes during morning prayer at school. Then, with a rustle of silk, the stewardess disappeared back to her lair. I did my best to make myself comfortable and close my eyes, wanting to be like the four hundred or so random souls who had managed to escape from the horror of hurtling through the air in an aluminum tube by going to sleep. As usual, I felt left out, not part of the crowd.
Of course, I could have booked into business class. I still had some money left from my legacy—but not enough that I wanted to waste it on just another few centimeters of room. Most of my money had gone toward buying the swanky riverside apartment for me and Star in London. I'd thought that a proper home was what she'd wanted, that it would make her happy, but it so hadn't . . .
Now here I was, no farther on than this time last year when I'd sat next to my sister in economy class, flying across the world to Thailand. Except this time Star wasn't with me, and I wasn't running to something, I was running away . . .
"Would you like breakfast, madam?"
I opened my eyes, feeling groggy and disoriented, and stared up at the same stewardess who had visited me in the middle of the night. I saw that all the cabin lights were on and some of the window blinds were open, revealing the pink hue of dawn.
"No thanks, just coffee. Black, please."
She nodded and retreated, and I wondered why—given I was paying for this entire experience—I felt guilty about asking for anything.
"Where are you headed?"
I turned to face my neighbor, whom I'd only viewed in profile up until now. And even then, it had been a nose, a mouth, and a lock of blond hair hanging out of a black hoodie. Now he was full frontal, staring at me. He was probably no more than eighteen, the traces of adolescent acne still visible on his chin and forehead. I felt ancient next to him.
"Bangkok, then on to Australia."
"Cool," he commented as he tucked into his prison-issue tray of inedible scrambled eggs, over-fried bacon, and a long pink thing that was masquerading as a sausage. "I'll head there eventually, but I'm gonna check out Thailand first. I've been told the Full Moon Parties are something else."
"They are."
"You been?"
"A few times," I replied, his question immediately downloading a selection of memories in my mind.
"Which one do you suggest? Heard Ko Pha Ngan is the best."
"It's been ages since I went there last, but I hear it's huge now—maybe a couple of thousand people. My favorite place is Railay Beach in Krabi. It's very chilled, but I suppose it depends on what you want."
"Heard of Krabi," he said, his jaw working overtime to chew the sausage. "I'm meeting my mates in Bangkok. We've still got a couple of weeks until the full moon to decide anyway. You meeting friends out in Oz?"
"Yeah," I lied.
"Stopping over in Bangkok for a while?"
"Just the night."
I sensed his excitement as the plane began its descent into Suvarnabhumi Airport and the usual set of instructions was issued by the cabin staff for us captives. It's all a joke, really, I thought as I closed my eyes and tried to still my banging heart. If the plane crashed, we would all die instantly, whether or not my tray table was in the upright position. I supposed they had to say this stuff to make us feel better.
The plane touched down so gently I hardly knew we were on the ground until they announced it over the PA system. I opened my eyes and felt a surge of triumph. I'd completed a long-haul flight alone and lived to tell the tale. Star would be proud of me . . . if she even cared any longer.
Having gone through immigration, I collected my baggage from the carousel and trooped toward the exit.
"Have a great time in Oz," called my teenage neighbor as he caught up with me. "My mate says the wildlife there is insane, spiders the size of dinner plates! See ya!"
With a wave, he disappeared into the mass of humanity. I followed him outside at a much slower pace and a familiar wall of humid heat hit me. I caught the airport shuttle bus to the hotel I'd booked into for my overnight stop, checked in, and took the lift up to my sterile room. Heaving my rucksack off my shoulders, I sat on the white bedsheets and thought that if I owned a hotel, I'd provide my guests with dark sheets that didn't show the stains of other bodies on them the way white does, no matter how hard you scrub.
There were so many things in the world that puzzled me, rules that had been made by someone somewhere, probably a long time ago. I took off my hiking boots and lay down, thinking I could be anywhere in the world, and I hated it. The air-con unit hummed above me and I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but all I could think about was that if I died right now, not a single human being would know I had.
I understood then what loneliness really was. It felt like a gnawing inside me, yet at the same time, a great hole of emptiness. I blinked away tears—I'd never been a crier—but they kept coming, so that eventually my eyelids were forced to open with the pressure of what felt like a dam about to burst.
It's okay to cry, CeCe, really . . .
I heard Ma's comforting voice in my head and remembered her telling me that when I fell out of a tree at Atlantis and sprained my ankle. I'd bitten my bottom lip so hard in my effort not to be a crybaby that I'd drawn blood.
"She'd care," I murmured hopelessly, then reached for my mobile and thought about turning it on and texting Ma to tell her where I was. But I couldn't hack seeing a message from Star, or, even worse, seeing no message from her at all. I knew that would break me, so I threw the phone across the bed and tried to close my eyes again. But then an image of Pa appeared behind my eyelids and wouldn't go away.
It's important that you and Star make your own friends, as well as having each other, CeCe . . .
He'd said that just before we'd gone to the University of Sussex together, and I'd been cross because I didn't need anyone else, and neither did Star. Or at least, I hadn't thought she did. Then . . .
"Oh, Pa," I sighed, "is it better up there?"
In the past few weeks, as Star had made it clear she wasn't interested in being with me anymore, I'd found myself talking to Pa a lot. His death just didn't seem real; I still felt him close to me, somehow. Even though outwardly I couldn't have been more opposite to Tiggy, my next sister down, with all her weird spiritual beliefs, there was this odd part of me that knew and felt things too . . . in my gut and in my dreams. Often it felt like my dream time was more real and vivid than when I was awake—a bit like watching a series on TV. Those were the good nights, because I had nightmares too. Like the ones with the enormous spiders . . .
I shuddered, remembering my teenage plane companion's parting words . . . They couldn't really be the size of dinner plates in Australia, could they?
"Christ!" I jumped out of bed to halt my thoughts, and washed my face in the bathroom. I looked at my reflection, and with my eyes pink and swollen from crying and my hair slick with grease after the long journey, I decided I looked like a baby wild boar.
It didn't matter how many times Ma had told me how beautiful and unusual the shape and color of my eyes were, or Star had said how much she liked to stroke my skin, which was—in her words—as smooth and soft as cocoa butter. I knew they were just being kind, because I wasn't blind as well as ugly—and I hated being patronized about my looks. Given I had five beautiful sisters, I'd gone out of my way not to compete with them. Electra—who just happened to be a supermodel—was constantly telling me that I wasn't making the best of myself but it was a waste of time and energy, because I was never going to be beautiful.
However, I could create beauty, and now, at my lowest ebb, I remembered something else that Pa had once said to me when I was younger.
Whatever happens to you in life, darling CeCe, the one thing that can never be taken away from you is your talent.
At the time, I thought it was just another—what's the word Star would use?—platitude to make up for the fact that I was basically crap looks-wise, crap academically, and crap with people. And actually, Pa was wrong, because even if other people couldn't take talent away from you, they could destroy your confidence with their negative comments and mess with your brain, so you didn't know who you were anymore or how to please anyone, least of all yourself. That was what had happened to me on my art course. Which was why I'd left.
At least I learned what I wasn't good at, I comforted myself. Which, according to my tutors, was most of the modules I'd taken in the past three months.
Despite the battering my paintings and I had received, even I knew that if I lost faith in my talent now, then there wasn't any point in carrying on. It really was all I had left.
I went back into the bedroom and lay down again, just wanting these awful lonely hours to pass, and finally understanding why I saw so many old people sitting on benches whenever I walked through Battersea Park on my way to college. Even if it was freezing outside, they needed to confirm that there were other human beings on the planet, and that they weren't completely alone.
I must have fallen asleep, because I had the spider nightmare and woke myself up screaming, automatically clapping a hand to my mouth to shut myself up in case someone along the corridor thought I was being murdered. I decided I just couldn't stay in this soulless room any longer by myself, so I put on my boots, grabbed my camera, and took the lift down to reception.
Outside, there was a queue of waiting taxis. I climbed into the back of one and directed the driver to the Grand Palace. It had always amused and upset me in equal measure that Bangkok, and what I'd seen of Thailand in general, seemed to be completely overstaffed. In any shop, even if you just went in for a packet of peanuts, there was always one person to guide you around, then another to work the till, and a third to bag your purchase. Labor was so cheap there, it was a joke. I immediately felt bad for thinking that, then reminded myself that this was why I loved traveling: it put things into perspective.
The driver dropped me at the Grand Palace and I followed the hordes of tourists, many of them bearing telltale red shoulders that spoke of a recent arrival from colder climates. Outside the temple, I removed my hiking boots and placed them with the variety of flip-flops and trainers other visitors had left by the steps, then walked inside. The Emerald Buddha was supposed to be over five hundred years old and was the most famous statue in Thailand. Yet he was small compared to the many other Buddhas I'd seen. The brightness of the jade and the way his body was shaped reminded me of a bright green lizard. His limbs were fluid and, to be honest, not very accurate. Not that it mattered—"he" was a beautiful thing.
I sat down cross-legged on one of the mats, enjoying my time out in the sun in this big, peaceful space with other human beings around me, probably contemplating their navels too. I'd never been one for religion, but if I had to pick one, I liked Buddhism best because it seemed to be all about the power of nature, which I felt was a permanent miracle happening right in front of my eyes.
Star often said that I should sign up to become a member of the Green Party when she'd listen to me rant on for ages after watching some TV program on the environment, but what would be the point? My voice didn't count, and I was too stupid to be taken seriously. All I knew was that the plants, animals, and oceans that made up our ecosystem and sustained us were so often ignored.
"If I worship anything, it's that," I murmured to the Buddha. He too was made of earth—of hewn mineral turned to beauty over millennia—and I thought he'd probably understand.
Given this was a temple, I thought I should put in a word to Pa Salt. Maybe churches and temples were rather like telephone exchanges or Internet cafés: They gave you a clearer line up to the heavens . . .
"Hi, Pa, really sorry that you died. I miss you much more than I thought I would. And I'm sorry if I didn't listen to you when you gave me advice, and all your words of wisdom and stuff. I should have because look how I've ended up. Hope you're okay up there," I added. "Sorry again."
I stood up, feeling the uncomfortable lump of tears threatening the back of my throat, and walked toward the door. As I was about to step outside, I turned back.
"Help me, Pa, please," I whispered to him.
Having bought a bottle of water from a street vendor, I wandered down to the Chao Phraya River and stood watching the heavy traffic chugging along it. Tugs, speedboats, and wide barges covered with black tarpaulins continued about their daily business. I decided to get on a passenger ferry and go for a ride—it was cheap and at least better than sitting in my miserable hotel room back at the airport.
As we sped along, I saw glass skyscrapers with golden temples nestled elegantly between them, and along the riverbanks, rickety jetties connected wooden houses to the stream of activity on the water. I took my trusty Nikon camera—Pa had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday, so that I could, as he'd put it, "take pictures of what inspires you, darling"—and snapped away. Star was always nagging me to move to digital photography, but me and technology didn't get on, so I stuck to what I knew.
After getting off the boat just past the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, I walked up the street beside it and remembered how I'd once treated Star to high tea in the famous Authors' Lounge. We'd both felt out of place in our jeans and T-shirts, with everyone else dressed up to the nines. Star had spent hours in the library looking at the signed photographs of all the authors who had stayed at the hotel in the past. I wondered if she ever would write her novel, because she was so good at putting sentences together and describing things on paper. Not that it was any of my business anymore. She had a new family now; I'd seen a light in her eyes when I'd arrived home a few weeks ago and a man she called "Mouse" had been there in our apartment, gazing at her like an adoring puppy.
I sat down at a street café and ordered a bowl of noodles and a beer just for the hell of it. I wasn't good with alcohol, but given I was feeling so awful, it couldn't really make me feel much worse. As I ate, I thought that what hurt the most wasn't the fact that Star had a new boyfriend and job, it was that she'd withdrawn from me, slowly and painfully. Perhaps she thought I'd be jealous, that I wanted her all to myself, which just wasn't true. I loved her more than anything, and only wanted to see her happy. I'd never been so stupid as to think that one day, what with her being so beautiful and clever, a man wouldn't come along.
You were really rude to him when he came to the apartment, my conscience reminded me. And yes, I had minded his being there, and, as usual, I hadn't known how to hide it.
The beer did its job and blunted the sharp edges of my pain. I paid, then stood up and walked aimlessly along the road before turning into a narrow alley that had a street market. A few stalls down, I came across an artist painting a watercolor. Watching him sitting at his easel reminded me of the nights I'd sat on Railay Beach in Krabi with my sketch pad and tin of paints, trying to capture the beauty of the sunset. Closing my eyes, I remembered the peace I'd felt when I'd been there with Star, only a year ago. I wanted it back so much it hurt.
I made my way to the riverbank and leaned over the balustrade, thinking. Would it be turning chicken to head for the place I'd felt happiest before going on to Australia? I knew people on Railay Beach. They'd recognize me, wave, and say hello. Most of them were escaping from something too, because Railay was that kind of place. Besides, the only reason I was going to Australia was because of what Georg Hoffman, Pa's lawyer, had told me when I'd been to see him. It was somewhere to head to, far away from London.
So, instead of spending twelve hours flying in a tube to a place where I knew no one, I could be drinking a cold beer on Railay Beach by this time tomorrow night. Surely a couple of weeks or so wouldn't hurt? After all, it was Christmas soon and it might be less awful to spend it in a place that I knew and loved . . .
It was the first time in ages that I'd actually felt anticipation at the thought of doing something. Before the feeling vanished, I hailed the first taxi I saw and directed it back to the airport. Inside the terminal, I went to the Thai Airways ticket desk and explained that I needed to delay my flight to Australia. The woman at the desk did a lot of tapping on her computer and told me it would cost about four thousand baht, which wasn't much in the scheme of things.
"You have flexible ticket. What date you wish to rebook?" she asked.
"Er, maybe for just after Christmas?"
"Everything full. First available flight is eighth of January."
"Okay," I agreed, glad I could now blame fate for having to stay on longer. Then I booked a return flight from Bangkok to Krabi, leaving early the following morning.
Back in my hotel room, I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed feeling calmer. If my sisters heard, I knew they would all say that I was "bumming around" again, but I didn't care.
Like an injured animal, I was going away to hide and lick my wounds.
## 2
The best thing about Railay Beach is that it's on a peninsula and you can only reach it by boat. Star and I had traveled to many incredible places, but sitting on a wooden bench in a long-tail boat speeding noisily across an aquamarine sea, and that first sight of the incredible limestone pillars rising into a deep blue sky, had to be up there in my top five magical moments.
As we drew closer, I saw ropes attached to the rock, with humans who looked like multicolored ants dressed in bright fluorescent shorts scaling its surface. As I heaved my rucksack onto my shoulders and clambered off the boat, my skin prickled in anticipation. Although my limbs were short, they were strong and agile, and rock climbing was one of the things I was actually good at. Not a useful skill for someone who lived in the center of London and wanted to be an artist, but in a place like this, it meant something. I thought about how, depending where you were on the earth, your particular strengths and weaknesses were either positives or negatives. In school I was a dunce, whereas Star was, literally, a superstar. Yet here in Krabi, she'd faded into the shadows and sat on the beach with a book, while I'd reveled in all the outdoor activities the area had to offer. The great outdoors was my element, as Ma had once commented, and I had been more well-known in the community here than Star.
The color of the water around me was unique: turquoise one moment as the sun glinted on it, then a deep green in the sheltered shadows beneath the huge rocks. As I waded onto land through the shallows, I saw the beach spread out in front of me: a gentle crescent of white sand edged by the enormous limestone pillars, with palm trees dotted intermittently between the basic wooden shacks that housed the hotels and bars. The calming sound of reggae music emanated from one of them.
I trudged across the burning white sand toward the Railay Beach Hotel, where we'd stayed last year, and leaned on the bar-cum-reception tucked inside the wooden veranda.
"Hi," I said to a young Thai woman I didn't recognize. "Do you have a room available for the next few weeks?"
The woman studied me and got out a large reservations folder. She traced her finger carefully down each page, then shook her head.
"Christmas coming. Very busy. No room after twenty-first."
"Just the next two weeks then?" I suggested.
I felt a hand suddenly slap my back.
"Cee? It is you, isn't it?"
I turned around and saw Jack, an Australian bundle of tall, toned muscle, who owned the hotel and ran the rock-climbing school on the beach around the corner.
"Yeah, hi." I grinned at him. "I'm just checking in, at least for a couple of weeks, anyway, then I get kicked out. Apparently you're fully booked."
"Sure we can find you a cupboard somewhere, darl', don't worry about that. Your sister here with you?"
"Er, no. Just me this time."
"How long are you staying?"
"Until after New Year."
"Well, if you want to give me a hand at the rock, let me know. I could do with it, Cee. Business goes mad this time of year."
"I might. Thanks," I said.
"You fill out details." The Thai receptionist handed me a card.
"Don't worry about that, Nam," Jack told her. "Cee was here with her sister last year so we have them already. Come on. I'll show you to your room."
"Thanks."
As Jack picked up my rucksack, I saw the receptionist giving me the evils.
"Where are you headed after here?" he asked companionably as he led me along a wooden walkway, off which a series of basic rooms lay behind a row of battered doors.
"Australia," I replied as we stood in front of room twenty-two, at the end of the walkway. I saw it was slap-bang next door to the generator, with a view of two big wheelie bins.
"Ah, my home country. Which part?"
"The northwest coast."
"Blistering this time of year, y'know."
"The heat doesn't bother me," I said as I unlocked my door.
"Well, see ya around." Jack gave me a wave and ambled off.
Even though the room was tiny, humid, and smelled strongly of rubbish, I dumped my rucksack on the floor, feeling more chipper than I had in weeks, because it felt so good to be known. I'd loved my occasional days working at the rock-climbing school last year, checking the ropes and fastening clients into their harnesses. At the time, Star and I had been short of cash and Jack had knocked some money off our room in return. I wondered what he'd say if I told him I didn't need to work anymore, because I was now a millionaire. On paper, anyway . . .
I tugged on a frayed piece of cord to switch on the ceiling fan, and eventually, with a lot of clanking and squeaking, it began to turn, stirring up only a whisper of breeze. Discarding my clothes, I put on my bikini and a sarong I'd bought there last year, then left my room and wandered down to the beach. I sat on the sand for a bit, chuckling at the fact that there in "paradise," what with all the long-tail boats motoring in and out of the bay, it was a million times noisier than living on the river in the center of London. I stood up, walked down to the shore, and waded into the sea. When I was far enough out, I lay on my back in the gorgeous water, looked up at the sky, and thanked God, or Buddha, or whomever I was meant to thank, that I'd come back to Krabi. I felt at home for the first time in months.
I slept on the beach that night, as I'd often done in the past, with only a kaftan, a hoodie, and my blow-up pillow for comfort. Star had thought I was nuts—"You'll get bitten to death by mosquitoes," she'd commented whenever I'd trailed out of the room with my bedding. But somehow, with the moon and stars shining down on me, I felt more protected by the roof of the world than I would have done by anything man-made.
I was woken by a tickling on my face, and lifted my head to see a large pair of male feet marching past me toward the sea. Brushing away the sand they'd shed onto me, I saw that the beach was otherwise deserted, and by the look of the light beginning to spread across the horizon, it was just before dawn. Grumpy at being woken so early, I watched as the man—who had a beard and black hair scraped back in a ponytail that straggled out of the back of his baseball cap—reached the shore and sat down, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms folded around them. I turned over to try to get back to sleep—I got my best rest between four and ten a.m.—but my body and mind weren't interested. So I sat up, assumed the same position as the man in front of me, and watched the sunrise with him.
Given the amount of exotic places I'd visited, I'd actually seen relatively few sunrises in my life, because it wasn't my time of day. The magnificent, subtle hues of dawn breaking reminded me of a Turner painting, but it was far better in real life.
Once the sun's performance was over, the man immediately stood up and walked away along the beach. I heard the faint chug of a long-tail boat in the distance, heralding the start of the human day. I stood up, deciding to retreat to my room to get some more sleep before the beach filled with outgoing and incoming passengers. Still, I thought, as I unlocked the door and lay down on my bed, it was worth being woken up to see that.
Just as it always seemed to there, time slipped past without my really noticing. I'd agreed to Jack's offer of helping him out at the rock-climbing school. I also went scuba diving, swimming alongside seahorses, tiger fish, and black-tipped reef sharks who barely spared me a glance as they cruised through the corals.
Sunsets were spent chatting on mats on the beach, with the sound of Bob Marley in the background. I was pleasantly surprised by how many Railay residents remembered me from last year, and it was only when darkness fell and they were hanging out at the bar intent on getting drunk that I'd head back to my room. It didn't feel too bad, though, because I was leaving them, not the other way around, and I could always go back and join them if I wanted to.
One thing that had really cheered me up was when I'd finally had the courage to turn on my mobile a day after I'd arrived, and I'd seen that Star had left me loads of texts saying things like, Where are you?, I'm so worried about you!, and Please call me! There had also been a lot of voice mails from her, which mostly said that she was sorry over and over again. It had taken me a while to send a reply—not just because I was dyslexic, but because I didn't know what to say.
In the end, I just said that I was fine, and apologized for not getting in touch sooner, because I'd been in transit. Which I had, from all sorts of stuff. She texted back immediately, saying how relieved she was that I was okay, and asking me where I was, and saying that she was sorry, again. Something stopped me from telling her my location. It was childish, but it was the only secret I had to keep. And she'd kept a lot from me lately.
I only realized I'd been in Railay for two weeks when Nam, the young Thai woman on the reception desk, who acted as though she owned the place, reminded me I had to check out today at noon.
"Bugger," I said under my breath as I walked away, realizing I'd have to spend the morning room-hunting.
I arrived back at the hotel a couple of hours later, having fruitlessly traipsed the length and breadth of Railay Beach in search of a bed for the night—like Mary on her donkey—to find Nam glaring at me again.
"Maid need to clean room. New guest arrive at two p.m."
"I'm on my way," I said, wanting to tell her that actually, I could easily afford to book in at the five-star Rayavadee hotel. If they actually had a room, which they didn't, because I'd already checked. I stuffed everything into my rucksack, then dropped off the key to my room. I'll just have to sleep under the stars for a few days until Christmas is over, I thought.
Later that evening, having eaten my bowl of pad thai, I saw Jack propping up the bar. He had an arm around Nam, which immediately explained her bad attitude toward me.
"You found a room?" Jack asked me.
"No, not yet, but I'm fine sleeping on the beach for tonight."
"Listen, Cee, take mine, no worries at all. I'm sure I can find a bed for a few nights elsewhere." He nuzzled into Nam's smug little shoulder.
"Okay, thanks, Jack," I agreed swiftly, having spent the afternoon guarding my rucksack on the beach like it was the Holy Grail, and wondering how I could take a shower to wash the sand and salt off my skin. Even I needed the basics.
He dug in his pocket for the key and handed it to me, as Nam looked at me with disapproval. Following his directions up a flight of narrow stairs that led from reception, I opened the door, and apart from the smell of sweaty socks laced with a hint of damp towels, I was quite impressed—Jack had the best view in the building. And even better than that, a narrow wooden balcony, built out over the roof of the veranda below.
Locking the door, in case a drunk Jack forgot he'd loaned me his room, I took a shower; his bathroom had a far bigger and more powerful nozzle than the dribbles in the guest rooms below me. I put on a clean T-shirt and shorts and went to sit out on the balcony.
Close to Orion's Belt, I saw the Seven Sisters stars clustered together. When Pa had first shown me my star through his telescope, he had seen that I was disappointed. It was the least bright, which just about said it all, and my mythological story seemed vague at best. Being so young, I'd wanted to be the shiniest, biggest star with the best story of all.
CeCe, he'd said, taking my small hands in his. You're here on earth to write your own story. And I know you will.
As I stared at the star cluster, I thought of the letter Pa had written to me, which was given to me by Georg Hoffman, his lawyer, a few days after Pa had died.
Star had refused to open hers, but I'd been desperate to read mine. So I'd taken myself off into the garden and climbed into the branches of a magnificent old beech tree—the same tree I'd once fallen out of when I was small. I'd always felt safe up there, protected from view by its leafy branches. I'd often gone there to think, or to sulk, depending on the situation. Making myself comfortable on the wide bough, I'd torn open the letter.
Atlantis
Lake Geneva
Switzerland
My darling CeCe,
I know reading this letter will be a struggle for you. I beg you to have the patience to finish it. I'll also guess that you will read this without crying, because emotion is a land you keep inside. Yet I'm fully aware of how deeply you feel.
I am certain you will have been strong for Star. You arrived at Atlantis within six months of each other and the way you have always protected her has been a beautiful sight to witness. You love deeply and fiercely, as I have always done. A word of advice from one who knows: Take care that this is not to the detriment of yourself. Don't be afraid of letting go when the time comes—the bond you share with your sister is deep and unbreakable. Trust in it.
As you will already have seen, I have left you girls an armillary sphere in my special garden. Under each of your names is a set of coordinates that will tell you exactly where I found you. There is also a quotation, which I hope you feel is apt. I certainly do.
In addition, I urge you to go and see my dear friend and lawyer Georg Hoffman as soon as you can. Don't worry, what he has to tell you is very good news, and in itself provides a link with your past that will be enough to send you on your way if you want to discover more about your birth family. If you do take the leap, I'd advise you to find out about a woman called Kitty Mercer, who lived in Broome on the northwestern coast of Australia. It was she who began your story.
I realize that you have often felt overshadowed by your sisters. It is vital that you don't lose faith in yourself. Your talent as an artist is unique—you paint as your imagination demands. And once you have found the confidence to trust in it, I am sure you will fly.
Lastly, I want to tell you how much I love you, my strong, determined adventurer. Never stop searching, CeCe, for both inspiration and peace, which I pray will come to you eventually.
Pa Salt x
Pa had been right about one thing—it had taken me almost an hour to read the letter and decipher every single word. Yet he was wrong about something else—I had almost cried. I'd sat up in that tree for a long time, until I'd realized that my backside was numb, and my legs had got pins and needles, so I'd had to climb down.
By the grace of God, I am who I am, had been the quotation he'd had engraved onto the armillary sphere. Given that—both then and now—I actually had no idea who I was, it hadn't inspired me, only depressed me further.
When I'd been to see Georg Hoffman in his Geneva office the next morning, he'd said that Star couldn't come in with me, so she'd had to wait outside in reception. He'd then told me about my inheritance and handed me an envelope containing a black and white photograph of an older man standing with a teenage boy by a pickup truck.
"Am I meant to know them?" I'd asked Georg.
"I'm afraid I have no idea, Celaeno. That was the only thing that arrived with the funds. There was no note, just the address of the solicitor who wired the money from Australia."
I'd been planning to show the photograph to Star to see if she had any ideas, but in order to encourage her to open her own letter from Pa, I'd resolved that I wouldn't tell her what Georg Hoffman had said until she did. When she had eventually opened hers, she hadn't told me what it said, so she still didn't know about the photograph, or where the money to buy the London apartment had actually come from.
You used to tell me everything . . .
I rested my chin on my hands and leaned over the balcony, hit again by a big dose of the "miseries," as Star and I used to call it when we felt low. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a solitary figure standing at the water's edge near the rocks, staring up at the moon. It was the guy from a couple of weeks ago who'd woken me up on the beach. As I hadn't seen him since, and because Railay was such a small community, I'd presumed he'd left. But here he was, alone again in the dark of night. Maybe he didn't want to be seen . . .
I watched him for a while to see where he went, but he didn't move for ages, and I got bored, so I went inside and lay down on the bed to try to sleep. Whoever he was, I just knew he was as lonely as me.
## 3
On Christmas Eve—which just happened to be a full moon to boot—I automatically did what Star and I used to do every year with our sisters, and looked up into the night sky to search for the bright, magical star that Pa always told us was the Star of Bethlehem. I'd once Googled the star he'd pointed to and, with Ally's help, discovered that it was in fact the North Star—Polaris. In Switzerland, it was high in the sky all year round, but tonight I couldn't even find it. Then I remembered that Google also said it was harder to see the farther south you went. I gazed heavenward and thought how sad it was that we weren't kids anymore, and that we could discover the truth by pressing a few keys on a computer.
But tonight, I decided, I would believe in magic. I fixed my gaze on the brightest star I could find and thought of Atlantis. Besides, even if Christmas wasn't celebrated in Buddhist culture, Thailand still made an attempt for its international guests by hanging up tinsel and foil banners, which at least put everyone in a good mood.
Just before midnight, I wandered out of the noisy bar and walked down toward the rocks to get the best view of the full moon. And there, already standing in the shadows, was the mystery man—once again in the dark, and once again alone. I felt really irritated because I wanted this moment to be special and to have the space to myself, so I turned tail and walked away from him. Then, when I was far enough away, I looked up and spoke to my sister.
"Merry Christmas, Star. Hope it's a good one, and that you're well and comfortable. I miss you," I whispered to the sky. I sent up a little wish to Pa, and then Ma too, who probably missed Pa just as much as any of us. After that, I sent up a kiss to all of my sisters—even Electra, who didn't really deserve a kiss because she was so selfish and mean and spoiled . . . But it was Christmas, after all. I turned back, my legs feeling a bit wobbly beneath me, due to the extra beer that had been pressed into my hand at the bar earlier.
As I was passing the mystery man, I stumbled slightly and a pair of hands reached out to the tops of my arms to steady me. "Thanks," I muttered. "There was an, er . . . rock in the sand."
"That's okay."
As his hands left my arms, I looked up at him. He'd obviously been in for a swim as his long black hair had been released from its ponytail and hung wet about his shoulders. He had what Star and I had nicknamed a chest beard—although it wasn't a very impressive one—and the line of black hairs traveling from his navel to his shorts formed a shadow in the moonlight. His legs looked quite hairy too.
My eyes traveled back up to his face and I saw that his cheekbones stood out like saws above his dark beard, which made his lips seem very full and pink in comparison. When I actually dared to look him in the eyes, I saw that they were a really amazing blue.
I decided he reminded me of a werewolf. After all, tonight was a full moon. He was so skinny and tall that I felt like a plump pygmy next to him.
"Merry Christmas," he mumbled.
"Yeah, merry Christmas."
"I've seen you before, haven't I?" he said. "You were the girl lying asleep that morning on the beach."
"Probably. I'm there a lot." I shrugged casually as his weird blue eyes swept over me.
"Don't you have a room?"
"Yeah, but I like sleeping outside."
"All those stars, the vastness of the universe . . . it puts things into perspective, doesn't it?" He sighed heavily.
"It does. Where are you staying?"
"Nearby." The Werewolf waved his hand vaguely at the rock behind him. "You?"
"There." I pointed back toward the Railay Beach Hotel. "Or at least, my rucksack is," I added. "Bye then." I turned toward the hotel, doing my best to try to walk in a straight line, which was hard enough on sand, but with two beers inside me, almost impossible. I could feel the Werewolf's eyes upon me as I reached the veranda and allowed myself a quick backward glance. He was still staring at me, so I grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and scurried upstairs to Jack's room. After fumbling to unlock the door, I crept onto the balcony to try to spot him, but he'd disappeared into the shadows.
Perhaps he was waiting for me to go to sleep, and then would numb my senses by sticking two enormous fangs into my neck so I wouldn't scream as he sucked my blood dry . . .
CeCe, that's vampires, not werewolves, I told myself with a giggle, then hiccuped and drank a bottle of water straight down, irritated with myself and my pathetic body for not being able to cope with two small beers. I staggered to the bed, feeling my head spin when I closed my eyes, and eventually passed out into oblivion.
Christmas Day was painfully similar to last year there with Star. The tables on the veranda had all been pushed together, and a parody of a roast lunch had been laid out, as if it was possible to re-create the essence of Christmas in ninety-three-degree heat.
After lunch, feeling bloated from the stodgy European food, I took a swim to work the feeling off. It was almost three o'clock, around the time that England would be waking up. Star was probably spending it in Kent with her new family. I emerged from the sea and shook the water droplets off me like a dog. There were lots of couples lying lazily together on the beach, sleeping off their lunches. It was the first Christmas in twenty-seven years that Star and I had spent apart. Well, if the mystery man was a werewolf, then I was a lone wolf now, and I just had to get used to it.
Later on that evening, I was sitting on the corner of the veranda, listening to music through my iPod. It was of the crashing, banging variety, which always cheered me up when I was feeling low. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to see Jack standing beside me.
"Hi there," I said, taking my earphones out.
"Hi. Can I buy you a beer?"
"No thanks. Had enough last night." I rolled my eyes at him, knowing he'd been far too drunk to notice what I'd had.
"Sure. Look, Cee, the thing is that, well . . ." He pulled up a chair and sat next to me. "Nam and I have . . . fallen out. Can't remember what I did wrong, but she kicked me out of bed at four this morning. She didn't even turn up today to help with the Christmas lunch, so I don't think I'll get a warm welcome back tonight. You know what women are like."
Yeah, I am one, remember? I felt like saying, but didn't.
"So, the problem is, I've got nowhere to kip. D'you mind sharing the bed with me?"
Yes, I do mind! I thought immediately. "Really, Jack, as long as I can leave my rucksack in your room, I'm happy to sleep on the beach," I assured him.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Sorry, Cee, I'm completely knackered after all the preparations for Christmas and the extra work over the last few days."
"It's fine. I'll just go and get what I need and leave you to it."
"I'm sure we'll be able to find you somewhere tomorrow," he called to me as I walked away, feeling the beach was a much better option than sleeping in the same room as a snoring man I hardly knew. Now, that would give me nightmares.
I collected my makeshift bedding, then stuffed the rest of my possessions into my rucksack. Tomorrow, I really needed to find myself a place to stay until I left for Australia in two weeks' time.
On the beach, I made my bed under a bush, and on a whim, I dug my mobile out of my shorts and dialed Atlantis.
"Hello?" The phone was picked up after a couple of rings.
"Hi, Ma, it's CeCe. I just wanted to wish you and Claudia a happy Christmas."
"CeCe! I am so happy to hear from you! Star said you'd gone away. Where are you?"
Ma always spoke to us sisters in French and I had to adjust my brain before I could answer her. "Oh, you know me, Ma, on a beach, doing my thing."
"Yes. I didn't think you'd last long in London."
"Didn't you?"
"You're a free spirit, chérie. You have wanderlust."
"Yes, I do." At that moment, I loved Ma just about as much as I'd ever loved her. She never judged or criticized, just supported her girls.
I heard the sound of a deep male cough in the background and my ears pricked up.
"Who's there with you?" I asked suspiciously.
"Just Claudia and Christian," said Ma.
In other words, the Atlantis staff.
"Right. You know, Ma, it was really weird, but when I got to the airport in London three weeks ago, I'm sure I saw Pa. He was walking back the other way and I tried to run and catch him, but he'd gone. I know this sounds stupid, but, like, I was sure it was him."
"Oh chérie," I heard Ma sigh deeply down the line. "You are not the first of your sisters to say something like this to me. Both Ally and Star told me that they were convinced they had heard or seen him . . . and perhaps you all did. But not in reality. Or at least, not reality as we know it."
"You think we're all seeing and hearing the ghost of Pa?" I chuckled.
"I think we wish to believe we are still seeing him, so perhaps our imaginations conjure him up. I see him all the time here," Ma said, suddenly sounding very sad. "And this is such a difficult time of year for us all. You are well, CeCe?"
"You know me, Ma, never had a day's illness in my life."
"And happy?"
"I'm fine. You?"
"I'm missing your father, of course, and all you girls. Claudia sends her love."
"Same to her. Okay, Ma, it's late here, I'm getting my head down now."
"Keep in touch, won't you, CeCe?"
"Yeah, course I will. Night."
"Good night, chérie. And joyeux Noël."
I tucked my mobile back into my shorts, then put my arms around my knees and rested my head on them, thinking how hard this Christmas must be for her. Us girls could move on to a future—or at least, we could try. We had more life ahead of us than we'd already lived, but Ma had given hers to us girls and Pa. I wondered then if she'd actually loved my father in a "romantic" way, and decided she must have to stay on for all those years and make our family her family. And now we had all left her.
I then wondered if my real mum had ever missed me or thought of me, and why she'd given me to Pa. Maybe she'd dumped me in an orphanage somewhere, and he'd collected me from there because he'd felt sorry for me. I was sure I'd been a very ugly baby.
All the answers lay in Australia, another twelve hours' journey from here. It was beyond weird that it was one country in the world I'd refused point-blank to visit, even though Star had quite fancied going. Pathetic that my spider nightmare was the reason, but there it was.
Well, I thought as I settled myself down on the sand, Pa called me "strong" and an "adventurer." I knew I'd need every ounce of those qualities to get me onto that plane in two weeks' time.
Again, I was woken by tickling across my face. I brushed the sand away and sat up to see the Werewolf walking to the sea. Wondering briefly how many maidens he'd eaten in the past few hours, I watched his long legs make short work of the sand.
He sat down at the water's edge in the same position as last time, with me directly behind him. We both looked up, waiting for the show to begin, like we were in a cinema. A cinema of the universe . . . I liked that phrase, and felt proud of myself for thinking of it. Maybe Star could use it in her novel one day.
The show was spectacular, made even more epic by the fact that there were a few clouds around today, softening the rising sun as it seeped like a golden yolk into the whipped egg whites around it.
"Hi," the Werewolf said to me as he was walking back.
"Hi."
"Good one this morning, wasn't it?" he offered.
"Yeah, great."
"Don't think you'll be sleeping out here tonight, mind you. We're in for a storm."
"Yes," I agreed.
"Well, see ya around." He gave me a wave and wandered off.
Back up on the terrace a few minutes later, I saw Jack was setting up breakfast. Nam normally did this, but she still hadn't been seen since Christmas Eve.
"Morning," I said.
"Morning." He gave me a guilty look before he said, "Sleep well?"
"Not bad, Jack." I beckoned him toward me and pointed to the retreating figure on the beach. "Do you know him?"
"No, but I've seen him a coupla times on the beach late at night. Keeps himself to himself. Why?"
"Just wondered. How long has he been here?"
"I'd reckon at least a few weeks."
"Right. Is it okay if I go up and take a shower in your room?"
"Sure. See ya later."
Having showered, I sat on the floor in Jack's room and sorted through my rucksack. I divided clean and dirty clothes—the dirty pile being the vast majority—and decided I'd drop them off at the laundry on my way to find a room. Then if the worst came to the worst and I ended up outside in a storm tonight, at least I'd have some clean, dry clothes for tomorrow.
Even though there was no such thing as Boxing Day in this part of the world, everyone wandered along the narrow alleyway of shacks that passed for shops, looking as they did in Europe: like they had overdrunk, had overeaten, and were fed up because they'd opened all their presents and the excitement had passed. Even the normally smiley laundry lady looked grim as she separated the darks from the whites and shook out my underwear for all to see.
"Ready tomorrow." She handed me the ticket and I trudged out. Hearing a vague rumble of thunder in the distance, I began my hunt for a room.
I walked back onto the hotel veranda later, hot and sweaty and not having found anywhere that could offer me a room until tomorrow lunchtime. I sat drinking a coconut water and ruminating on whether I should move on—go to Ko Phi Phi perhaps, but there was no guarantee that I'd find anything there either. Well, one night out in the rain wouldn't kill me, and if it got really bad, I could always shelter under one of the restaurant verandas.
"Found a room yet?" Jack asked hopefully as he passed me, carrying a tray of beer to the neighboring table.
"Yeah," I lied, not wanting to put him in a difficult position. "I'll go upstairs and collect my rucksack after lunch."
"Don't fancy giving me a hand behind the bar for a while, do you?" he asked. "What with Nam going AWOL and the hotel full, I haven't been able to get along to the rock. Abi's just called to say they've got a queue as long as a python down there. And about as angry."
"I don't mind, though I wouldn't trust me carrying trays," I joked.
"Any port in a storm, Cee. It'll only be a couple of hours, I swear. Free beer and whatever you want to eat is on the house tonight. Come on, I'll show you the ropes."
"Thanks," I said, and stood up to go with him behind the bar.
Four hours later, there was no sign of Jack and I'd had enough. The bar was heaving and there was a rush on juices—presumably sparked by people using vitamin C or Bloody Marys as a hangover cure. None of the drinks were as simple as just pinging the cap off a beer, and I'd ended up splattered with mango juice when the blender had exploded all over me because I hadn't screwed the top on properly. The previous high spirits of the customers had disappeared overnight with the wrapping paper, and I was fed up with being shouted at for being slow. On top of that, I could hear the rumble of thunder getting closer, which meant that later, probably when me and my rucksack would have to make camp on the beach, the heavens would open.
Jack arrived back eventually, full of apologies for being away for so long. He looked around the now almost empty veranda.
"At least you haven't been too busy. It was heaving down at the rock."
Yeah, right . . . I didn't say anything as I finished my noodles, then went upstairs to collect my rucksack.
"Thanks, Cee. I'll see ya around," he said as I arrived back downstairs, paid the bill for my room, and trudged off.
I walked along the beach as a couple of lightning flashes appeared almost directly above me. I reckoned I had about five minutes before the downpour, so I upped my speed and turned right along an alleyway to a bar I knew, then saw that most of the shack-shops had closed up early because of the impending storm. The bar was also pulling down its shutters as I approached.
"Great," I muttered as the owner gave me a curt nod, and I carried on. "This is totally crazy and ridiculous, CeCe," I groaned. "Just go back to Jack and tell him you'll share his bed . . ."
Yet my legs propelled me forward until I arrived at the beach on the other side of the peninsula. It was called Phra Nang, and aesthetically, it was even more beautiful than Railay. Because of this, it was a huge tourist spot for day-trippers, so I usually avoided it. Also, because the luxury Rayavadee hotel backed onto it, there were scary security guards placed along its perimeter. Star and I had gone down there one night after the last long-tail boat had chugged off, and lain on our backs looking up at the stars. Five minutes later, a torch had been shone on our faces and we'd been told to leave. I tried to argue that all beaches in Thailand were public and the hotel security guards had no right to kick us off, but Star had shushed me as they'd manhandled us toward the path that led back to the plebs' side of the peninsula.
That sort of thing burned in my soul, because the earth and its beauty had been created by nature to be enjoyed for free by everyone, not reserved for the rich.
As a streak of blue and purple lightning lit up the sky, I realized this wasn't the moment to have a philosophical discussion with myself. Looking along the beach, I had a brain wave. The Cave of the Princess was at the far end of it, so I began to leg it across the sand. Two-thirds of the way along, huge drops of water began to fall on me. It felt like being pelted with small pieces of gravel.
I arrived at the entrance to the cave, staggered inside, and threw my rucksack down. I looked up and remembered that for some reason there were actually two versions of the princess, both tiny doll-sized figures who nestled within small wooden temples, half-hidden behind hundreds of assorted colorful garlands. On their altar, there were tea lights burning, which illuminated the inside of the cave with a comforting yellow glow.
I smiled to myself, recalling the first time that Star and I had visited the cave. Thinking it would be like any other Thai place of worship, we'd both expected a gold statue and the ubiquitous garland offerings. Instead, we'd been confronted by hundreds of phalluses of different shapes and sizes. I surveyed them now, poking upward from the sandy floor of the cave like erotic stalagmites, and perched on the rocks all around. Red, green, blue, brown . . . small ones, big ones . . . Apparently, this particular deity was a goddess of fertility. And from the size of the instruments that crowded the cave—some of which towered above my own head—I wasn't surprised.
However, tonight the Cave of the Princess was offering me sanctuary and I was out of the rain that was now streaming down like a curtain at the mouth of the cave. I stood up and walked through the selection of tributes, then knelt at the altar to say thank you. After that, I tucked myself into the side of the cave's entrance and watched the storm.
The sky lit up in spectacular flashes as lightning raged over the sea and the jagged limestone pillars. The rain shone silver in the moonlight as it pounded onto the beach in sheets, as if God were crying buckets from up above.
Eventually, feeling wrung out by the spectacle and the sheer energy the universe possessed, I staggered upright. Moving me and my rucksack deeper into the cave, I laid out my bed for the night and fell asleep behind an enormous scarlet phallus.
## 4
Ouch!"
I sat up swiftly as I felt something hard dig me in the ribs. I looked up into the eyes of a Thai security guard, trying to shake off the deep sleep I'd been in. He hauled me from the floor, speaking fiercely into his radio at the same time.
"Not stay here! Get out!" he barked at me.
"Okay, okay, I'm going." I bent down to pack my bedding into my rucksack. Another security guard, shorter and squatter than the first, arrived inside the cave to help out his mate and between the two of them, they manhandled me outside. I blinked in the light and saw the sun was just about to rise into a cloudless sky. They marched me along the beach, their hands clamped to my arms as though I were a dangerous criminal rather than a tourist who had simply taken shelter from the rain in a cave. The sand still felt damp beneath my feet, the only hint of last night's spectacular downpour.
"You don't have to hold on to me," I said bad-temperedly. "I'm going, I really am."
One of them let out a stream of aggressive-sounding Thai words that I couldn't understand as we walked toward the path at the other end of the beach. I wondered if I was to be thrown into jail like in Bangkok Hilton, the Nicole Kidman TV series that had frightened me senseless. If the worst happened, I couldn't even call Pa, who would have been over to Thailand in a shot to get me released.
"Is that you again?"
I turned my head and saw the Werewolf lurking in the bushes at the back of the beach.
"Yeah," I said, knowing my face was red with embarrassment.
"Po, let her go," he ordered, walking toward us.
Immediately, the squat security guard released my arm, then the Werewolf talked in fast Thai to the taller guard, who reluctantly dropped my other arm.
"Sorry, they're very officious," he said in English, raising an eyebrow. He spoke to the two men again, then, his eyes sweeping along the beach, beckoned me to follow him. Both guards saluted him, looking really disappointed as they watched me stumble behind him toward the bushes.
"How did you manage that?" I asked. "I thought I was for the chop."
"I said you were a friend of mine. You'd better come in quickly."
Then he took hold of my arm and dragged me through the foliage. Having had a few seconds' reprieve, my heartbeat began to speed up again and I wondered if I was better off with the two security guards than following a man I didn't know into a Thai jungle. I saw there was a high steel gate hidden among the greenery and watched as the Werewolf pressed some numbers on a keypad to the side of it. It opened smoothly and he ushered me beyond it. More trees followed, but then suddenly a vast and beautiful oasis of a garden came into view. To my right, I saw a large swimming pool, tiled in black and looking like something out of a design magazine. We walked through trees bedecked in a shower of golden blossoms, and onto a wide terrace full of wicker furniture with large, plump cushions being laid out on them by a maid in uniform.
"Want some coffee? Juice?" he asked me as we crossed the terrace.
"Coffee would be great," I said, and he spoke in Thai to the maid as we passed her. We were approaching a number of white pavilions set around a courtyard, each topped by traditional Thai lanna-style V-shaped roofs. In the center of the courtyard was a pond filled with pink flowers floating on the water. In the middle of it sat a black onyx Buddha. The whole scene reminded me of one of those exotic spas they were always advertising in magazines. I followed the Werewolf up some wooden steps to the side of one of the pavilions, and found myself on a shady roof terrace which gave the most magnificent view of Phra Nang Beach beyond it.
"Wow," was all I could think of to say. "This is . . . awesome. I've been on this beach loads of times, and never even noticed this place was here."
"Good," he said as he indicated I should sit down on one of the enormous sofas. I eased my rucksack off my shoulders and did so tentatively, worried I might mark the immaculate silk covers. It was the most comfortable thing I'd sat on since I'd arrived in Thailand and I just wanted to lie back on the cushions and fall asleep.
"You live here?" I asked.
"Yes, for now anyway. It's not mine, it's a friend's place," he said as the maid arrived up the steps with a tray of coffee and a selection of pastries laid out in a little basket. "Help yourself."
"Thanks." I poured myself a cup of coffee, then added two peat-brown sugar lumps.
"Can I ask why you were being escorted by the security guards from the beach?"
"I was sheltering from the storm in the Cave of the Princess. I . . . must have fallen asleep while I was waiting for it to stop." Pride prevented me from telling him the truth.
"It was quite some storm," he said. "I like it when nature takes over, shows you who's boss."
"So." I cleared my throat. "What do you do here?"
"Oh . . ." He took a sip of his black coffee. "Not a lot. I'm just taking some time out, you know?"
"Great place to do it."
"You?"
"Same." I reached for one of the buttery croissants. The smell reminded me so much of Claudia's breakfasts at Atlantis, I almost forgot where I was.
"What did you do before?"
"I was at art college in London. It didn't work out, so I left."
"Right. I live in London too . . . or at least, I did. On the river in Battersea."
I looked at him in shock, wondering whether this whole episode was some kind of surreal dream and I was actually still asleep behind the scarlet phallus.
"I live there too! In Battersea View—the new apartments that have just been built near Albert Bridge."
"I know exactly where you mean. Well, hello, neighbor." The Werewolf gave me his first genuine smile as he high-fived me. It lit up his weird blue eyes so he no longer looked like a werewolf, but more like a very skinny Tarzan.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat farther back on the sofa so that only my feet dangled over the edge. I wished I didn't have my boots on; then I could have curled them beneath me and tried to look as elegant as the surroundings decreed.
"What a coincidence . . ." He shook his head. "Someone told me once that in any country on earth, there's only six degrees of separation between us and someone we know."
"I don't know you," I pointed out.
"You don't?" He eyed me for a few seconds, his expression suddenly serious.
"Nope, should I?"
"Er, no, I just wondered if maybe we'd bumped into each other on Albert Bridge or something," he mumbled.
"Maybe. I used to cross it every day to walk to college."
"I was on my bike."
"Then I wouldn't have recognized you if you were all done up in Lycra and a helmet."
"True."
We both drained our coffees in awkward silence.
"Are you going back there soon? Like, after New Year or something?" I asked him eventually.
The Werewolf's face darkened. "I don't know. Depends on what happens . . . I'm trying to live for today. You?"
"Same, though I'm meant to be going on to Australia."
"Been there, done that. Mind you, I was working and it's never the same. All you get to see is the inside of hotels and offices, and a load of expensive restaurants. Corporate hospitality, you know?"
I didn't, but I nodded my head in agreement anyway.
"I had thought about going there," he continued. "You know when you just want to get as far away as you can . . . ?"
"I do," I said with feeling.
"You don't sound English, though. Is that a French accent I can hear?"
"Yes. I was born . . . well, I don't actually know where I was born 'cause I'm adopted, but I was brought up in Geneva."
"Another place I've visited and only seen the airport on my way to a ski trip. Do you ski? I mean, stupid question if you live in Switzerland."
"Yes. I love it, but I'm not so keen on the cold, you know?"
"I do."
There was another lull in the conversation, which, given the fact I'd already drunk two large cups of coffee, I couldn't fill with another one.
"How come you speak Thai?" I managed after a bit.
"Thai mother. I was brought up in Bangkok."
"Oh. Does she still live there?"
"No, she died when I was twelve. She was . . . wonderful. I still miss her."
"Oh, sorry," I said quickly, before plowing on. "How about your dad?"
"Never met him," he replied abruptly. "What about you, have you met your birth parents?"
"No." I had no idea how we'd wandered into such an intimate conversation in the space of twenty minutes. "Listen, I should be going. I've put you to enough trouble already." I heaved myself forward until my feet touched the ground.
"So, where are you staying now?"
"Oh," I said airily, "some hotel on the beach, but, as you know, I prefer sleeping outside."
"I thought you said your rucksack had a room. Why have you got it with you?"
I immediately felt like a child who'd been caught hiding sweets under the bed. What did it matter if he knew?
"Because there . . . was a mix-up with my room. I borrowed it and then the . . . person who lived in it fell out with his girlfriend and wanted it back. And everywhere else was full. That's why I headed for the cave when it started to rain."
"Right." He studied me. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?"
"I dunno," I said, looking at my feet like a five-year-old would. "I'm not . . . desperate or anything. I can take care of myself—there just wasn't a room available, okay?"
"No need to be so embarrassed, I understand completely."
"I just thought you might think I was a vagrant or something. And I'm not."
"I never thought that, promise. By the way, what's all that yellow stuff in your hair?"
"Christ!" I ran my hand through my hair and found that the ends were matted together. "It's mango. My mate Jack asked me to take care of the bar at the Railay Beach Hotel yesterday afternoon, and there was a run on fruit shakes."
"I see." He tried to keep a straight face but couldn't manage it. "Well, could I at least offer you a shower? And beyond that, a bed for a few nights, until things have calmed down on the beach? The water's piping hot," he added.
Now, that really tempted me. The thought of hot water and knowing I looked and smelled disgusting won out over pride. "Yes please."
He led me back downstairs and we crossed the courtyard to another pavilion, on the right of the quadrangle. There was a key in the lock and he turned it, then handed it to me.
"It's all prepared. It always is. Take your time, there's no rush."
"Thanks," I said, and disappeared inside, locking the door firmly behind me.
"Wow!" I said out loud as I looked around. He wasn't wrong about the room's being "prepared." I surveyed the super-king-sized bed made up with big fluffy pillows and a soft duvet—all in white, of course. But clean white, that I just knew didn't have any stains left over from other people. There was a big flat-screen TV behind shutters that you could close if you didn't want to be reminded of the outside world, and seriously tasteful Thai art, and when I touched the walls, I realized they were covered in silk. Dumping my rucksack on the teak-wood floor, I searched inside it for my shower gel, then padded into what I presumed was the bathroom but turned out to be a walk-in wardrobe. Trying another door, I found myself in a room that had a power shower and a massive sunken bath set against a wall of glass, beyond which was a little garden full of bonsai trees and pretty flowering plants that Star would know the names of, but I didn't. The whole thing was shielded by a high wall so that nobody could spy on you as you bathed.
I was sooo tempted to run a bath and sink into it, but I felt that would be taking advantage. So I turned on the shower and scrubbed every part of me until my skin was tingling. I needn't have bothered searching for my shower gel, as there was an entire range of luxury body products from some posh eco brand sitting on a marble shelf.
After emerging from the shower—even though I wouldn't have wanted anyone to know it, as I was so anti those lotions and potions that women got conned into buying—I creamed my body to the max with everything on offer. Unwrapping the towel from my head, I shook out my hair and noticed how long it had grown. It was just touching my shoulders and fell around my face in ringlets.
Star had always gone on about how much better I looked with longer hair. Ma had called it my crowning glory, but at sixteen I'd had the lot cut off into a short crop because it was so much easier to maintain. If I was being honest, it had also been an act of rebellion and petulance. As if to show the world I didn't care what I looked like.
I dragged my hair back from my face and held it on the top of my head. It actually made a ponytail for the first time in years, and I wished I had a hair band with which to tie it up.
I padded through to the bedroom and looked longingly at the big bed. After double-checking that the door was still locked, I donned my T-shirt and climbed up onto it. Just ten minutes, I told myself, as I laid my head on the downy white pillows . . .
I was woken abruptly by a loud banging. I sat up, having absolutely no idea where I was. It was pitch-black and I searched blindly for a light. I heard something crash to the floor, and I rolled out of bed in a panic.
"Are you okay?"
I followed the sound of the voice and felt for the door with my palms. My muddled brain finally registered where I was, and who was knocking.
"I can't find the keyhole, and it's very dark in here . . . ," I said.
"Just use your hands to feel for the key. It should be right there in front of you."
The voice calmed me and I searched just below my middle, as that was usually where a door had a lock. My fingers felt for, then grabbed, the key and after a few attempts I managed to turn it, then reached for the handle.
"It's unlocked," I called, "but I still can't open the door."
"Stand back and I'll open it for you."
The room was suddenly awash with light and I managed to breathe again as relief flooded through me.
"Sorry about that," he said as he entered the room. "I'll have to get someone to come and fix the handle. It's just got stiff because it's not been used for a while. You okay?"
"Yeah, sure." I sat down on the bed, taking in deep gulps of air.
The Werewolf studied me silently for a while.
"You're afraid of the dark, aren't you? That's why you like sleeping outdoors."
He was right, but I wasn't going to admit it. "Course not. I just woke up and didn't know where I was."
"Right. Sorry to frighten you, but it's nearly seven o'clock in the evening. You've slept for almost twelve hours. Wow, you must have been tired."
"I was. Sorry."
"That's okay. Are you hungry?"
"I don't know yet."
"If you are, Tam's making supper. You're welcome to join me on the main terrace."
"Tam?"
"The chef. It'll be ready in about half an hour. See you then."
He left the room and I swore loudly. A whole day gone! Which meant I'd almost certainly lost the booking at my new hotel when I hadn't turned up at lunchtime to check in. To add to it, because I'd slept so long, I'd have to go through jet lag all over again, plus my weird werewolf host probably thought I was special needs or something.
Why was he being so nice to me? I wasn't stupid enough to think there wasn't an ulterior motive. After all, he was a man and I was a woman . . . at least to some people. But then, if that was what he wanted, it would mean he fancied me, which was beyond ridiculous.
Unless he was desperate and anybody would do.
I dressed in a kaftan I didn't like because it was almost a dress, but it was all I had, given most of my clothes were still at the laundry. Once outside, I surreptitiously locked the door behind me and hid the key in the planter next to it, because my world was in that rucksack.
This place was probably even more beautiful at night than in the day. Lanterns hung from the low roofs, giving out a soft light, and the water around the onyx Buddha was lit from beneath. There was a fabulous scent of jasmine from the massive planters, and even better than that, I could smell food.
"Over here!"
I saw an arm waving at me from the terrace in front of the main pavilion.
"Hi," he said, indicating a chair.
"Hi. Sorry I slept so long today."
"Never apologize for sleeping. I wish I could."
I watched him sigh deeply, and then, as I really didn't think I could carry on calling him the Werewolf, considering he'd been—so far anyway—kind to me, I asked him his name.
"Didn't I tell you the other day?"
"No," I said firmly.
"Oh . . . just call me Ace. What's yours?"
"CeCe."
"Right. A nickname, like mine?"
"Yeah."
"What's yours short for?"
"Celaeno."
"That's unusual."
"Yeah, my pa—the guy who adopted me—had this weird fixation with the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades. Like, the star cluster," I explained, as I usually had to.
"Excuse me, sir, okay to serve now?"
The maid had appeared on the terrace, with a man wearing chef's whites standing behind her.
"Absolutely." Ace led me to the table. "What can I offer you to drink? Wine? Beer?"
"Nothing, thanks. Just water'll be fine."
He poured us both a glass from the bottle on the table. "Cheers."
"Cheers. Thanks for saving me today."
"No problem. As if I don't feel bad enough living in this place all by myself, there's you sleeping on the beach."
"Up until yesterday, it was my choice, but that bed is just fantastic."
"As I said, you're welcome to it for as long as you want. And before you refuse, I'm not just being kind, I'd actually appreciate the company. I've been alone here for nearly two months now."
"Why don't you invite some of your mates from London to come over?"
"That's not an option. Right," he said as a dish of sizzling king prawns was placed in the center of the table. "Let's tuck in."
That dinner was one of the best I'd eaten for a long time—at least since Star had cooked me a roast lunch last November in London. I'd never learned to cook myself because she was so great at it, and I'd almost forgotten what good food tasted like. Course after course made its way into my mouth—fragrant lemongrass soup, tender fried chicken wrapped in pandan leaves, and spicy fish cakes with nam jim sauce.
"Oh my God, that was absolutely delicious. I like this restaurant, thanks so much for inviting me. I've got a food baby." I indicated my swollen stomach.
Ace grinned at my description. We hadn't really chatted much over supper, probably because I'd been too busy stuffing my face. "So, has the food convinced you to stay?" Ace took a sip of his water. "I mean, it's not for long, is it? You said you're leaving for Australia after the New Year."
"Yeah, I am." I finally gave in. "If you're sure, it would be great."
"Good. Just one thing I'd ask: I know you're friendly with the crowd on Railay Beach, but I'd really prefer it if you didn't say you were staying here with me, or mention where the house is. I really value my privacy."
His eyes told me everything his casual words hadn't.
"I won't say a word, promise."
"Good. So, tell me about your painting. You must be really talented to have got a place in a London art college."
"Umm . . . I left a few weeks later, 'cause I realized I wasn't. Or not in the way they wanted me to be anyway."
"You mean, they didn't get you?"
"You could say that." I rolled my eyes. "I couldn't do anything right."
"So would you say you're more 'avant-garde' than someone like Monet, for example?"
"You could, but you've got to remember that Monet was avant-garde in his day. It really wasn't my art tutors' fault, I just couldn't learn what they wanted to teach me." I closed my mouth abruptly, wondering why I was telling him about all this. He was probably bored senseless. "What about you? What do you do?"
"Oh, nothing as interesting. I'm just your average City bod. Dull stuff, you know?"
I didn't, but I nodded as if I did. "So you're taking a . . ."—I searched for the word—"sabbatical?"
"Yeah, something like that. Now," he said, stifling a yawn, "can I get you anything else?"
"No thanks, I'm good."
"The staff will come and clear away but I need to try and sleep now. As you know, I'm up before dawn. And by the way, the security guards know you're staying with me, and the key code for the gate from the beach side is seven seven seven seven." He gave me a small smile. "Night, CeCe."
"Night."
As he left, I saw the staff hovering, probably ready for their beds too and wanting to be finished for the day. I decided that, while I was under Ace's protection, I'd chance a wander onto Phra Nang. Walking down the path, I pressed the red button on the pad at the side of the gate. It slid back and I was released onto the deserted beach.
"Sawadee krap."
I jumped as I looked to my left and saw Po, the squat security guard who had manhandled me along the beach at six o'clock this morning. He stood up from his stool, placed discreetly among the foliage that flanked the gate, and saluted me with a false smile.
"Sawadee ka," I said, doing a wai with my hands in the traditional Thai greeting.
The tinny noise of Thai pop music blared from a small radio next to his stool, and as I looked at his uneven, yellowing teeth, I saw him—literally—from the other side of the fence, and wondered how many children he had to feed, and how boring and lonely his job was. Except, I thought, as I walked through the foliage, part of me envied his having all this to himself. He had beauty and total peace every night. As I walked onto the beach, feeling a freedom that sadly only privilege could buy in this particular neck of the woods, I imagined how one day I would breathe in the world at its amazing best, then paint it onto canvas for everyone to see.
I made my way to the sea's edge and dipped my toes in the perfect body-temperature water. I looked up at the sky, chock-full of stars tonight, and wished I had the vocabulary to put into words the things I thought. For I felt things that I couldn't explain, except through the paintings I made or, recently, the installation I'd become obsessed with.
It hadn't been right, of course—it had tried to say too much about too many things—but I'd loved working in my riverside studio. And with Star in the kitchen as she made us supper, I'd felt content.
"Stop it, Cee!" I told myself firmly. I wasn't going to start looking back again. Star had made her move and I was out of her hair, leading my own life. Or at least, trying to.
Then I wondered if Star had ever thought of herself as a burden to me. I didn't want to start criticizing her because I loved her, but maybe she'd forgotten the way she'd needed me when she was small and didn't like speaking. She'd also been bad at making decisions and saying what she felt, especially as we'd been trapped in the middle of a bunch of strong-willed sisters. I wasn't trying to make her take the blame or anything, but there were always two sides to a story and maybe she'd forgotten mine.
Surprisingly, though, it seemed I'd found myself a new friend. I wondered what his story was, why he was really here; why he only went out at sunrise or after dark and wouldn't invite any friends to stay, despite admitting he was lonely . . .
I walked back slowly across the sand toward the hidden palace in the trees. Even though Po the security guard made to tap in the numbers on the pad, I got there first and pressed "7777" firmly onto the keys so he knew that I knew the code.
Having retrieved the key from the planter, I opened the door to my room to find someone had been there before me. The bed was made up with fresh sheets, and the clothes I had discarded earlier were folded neatly on a chair. The invisible cleaning fairy had also left a new set of fluffy towels, and after I'd washed the sand off my feet, I clambered into bed.
The problem was, I mused, that I'd always lived between two worlds. I could happily bunk down on the beach, but equally, I was comfortable in a room like this. And despite all my protests that I could survive with very little, tonight I didn't know which option I preferred.
## 5
Over the following few days, Ace and I settled into a routine at the palace. He got up really early and me really late, then in the afternoons I made myself scarce, traipsing back to Railay Beach so I wouldn't bother him. I'd told my Railay crowd I was staying in a hotel along the beach and they didn't question it. Consequently, Ace and I only brushed shoulders at suppertime. He seemed to expect me there, and that was fine by me as the food was fantastic. He didn't speak much, but because I was used to Star's quietness, it felt familiar and strangely comforting.
After three days of living a few meters from him, I realized I wasn't in any danger of his jumping me. I knew I just wasn't the kind of girl men fancied, and besides, if I was honest, I'd never really enjoyed sex anyway.
I'd lost my virginity nine years ago right there on Railay Beach. I'd had a couple of beers, which was always dangerous for me, and stayed up way after Star had gone to bed. The guy had been a gap-year student—Will, I think his name was—and we'd gone for a walk on the beach, and the kissing had been quite nice. That had led to our being horizontal and going all the way, which had hurt a bit, but not much. I'd woken up the next morning with a hangover, unable to believe that that was what all the fuss was about.
I'd done it since a couple of other times, on different beaches with different bodies, to see if it might get better, but it never did. I was sure that millions of women would tell me I was missing something, but I couldn't miss what I'd never had, so I was fine about it.
It was interesting that even though Star and I had always been pretty much joined at the hip, the one thing we had never confided in each other about was sex. I had no idea whether she was still a virgin or not. At boarding school, the girls used to chatter in intimate detail in bed at night about boys they fancied and how far they'd gone. Yet Star and I had remained silent on the subject, to them and each other.
Perhaps we'd felt that any kind of close physical relationship with a man would have been a betrayal. Well, I had anyway.
Leaving my room and not bothering to lock it, as I knew the invisible cleaning fairy would swoop in the moment I left, I wandered down to the terrace, where Ace was waiting for me.
"Hi, CeCe." He stood up briefly as I arrived and sat down. He'd obviously been taught manners and I appreciated the gesture. He poured some fresh water from the jug for us both and surveyed me.
"New top?"
"Yeah. I haggled and got it down to two hundred and fifty baht."
"Ridiculous really, isn't it? When lots of people buy similar in a designer store in London for hundreds of times that price."
"Well, I never would."
"I once had a girlfriend who didn't think twice about spending thousands on a handbag. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was something for life, but then the new-season stuff would come in, and she'd buy another new bag, and the old one would be put in a cupboard with the rest and never used again. Mind you, I once caught her standing there admiring her collection."
"Maybe they were works of art to her. Whatever floats your boat, but it sure doesn't float mine. Anyway, you men are just as bad with your cars," I added as tonight's feast was delivered to the table by the maid.
"You're right," he said, as the maid slid away as silently as she had arrived. "I've owned a series of very flashy cars just because I could."
"Did it make you feel good?"
"It did at the time, yes. I liked the sound of the engines. The more noise it made, the better it was."
"Boys with their toys . . ."
"Girls with their pearls," he countered with a smile. "Now, shall we eat?"
We did so in companionable silence. When I'd had my fill I sat back contentedly. "I'm going to miss this when I'm a simple backpacker again in Australia. It's like a slice of heaven here. You're really lucky."
"I guess you never really appreciate what you've got until you've lost it, do you?"
"Well, you haven't lost this. And this is amazing."
"Not yet . . . no." He gave one of his deep sighs. "What are you doing for New Year's Eve tomorrow night?"
"I haven't really thought about it. Jack's invited me to the restaurant to see in the New Year with the rest of the crowd. Want to come?"
"No thank you."
"What are you doing?" I asked out of politeness.
"Nothing. I mean, it's a man-made calendar, and if we lived in, say, China, we'd be celebrating at a different time of year."
"True, but it's still a ritual, isn't it? When you're meant to be celebrating and end up feeling like a real loser if you're sitting there alone, getting texts from your mates at amazing parties." I grinned.
"Last year, I was at an amazing party," Ace admitted. "It was in Saint-Tropez at a club. We'd come in by boat and the hostesses were opening bottles of champagne that cost hundreds of euros each and spraying them all over the place like it was water. At the time, I thought it was great, but I was drunk and most things seem fantastic then, don't they?"
"To be honest, I've not been drunk very often. Alcohol doesn't suit me, so most of the time I steer clear."
"Lucky you. I—and I guess most people—use it to forget. To ease the stress."
"Yeah, it certainly takes the edge off stuff."
"I did some really stupid things when I was boozing," Ace confessed. "So now I don't go there. I haven't had a drink for the past two and a half months, so I'd probably get drunk on a beer. It used to take me at least a couple of bottles of champagne and a few vodka chasers to even begin to feel that edge blunt."
"Wow. Well, I do like the odd glass of champagne on special occasions—birthdays and stuff."
"Tell you what." He leaned forward and stared at me, his blue eyes suddenly alive. "What do you say to opening a bottle of champagne at midnight tomorrow? As you point out, it's for special occasions and it is New Year's Eve, after all. But, we limit ourselves to one glass each."
I frowned and he saw it immediately.
"Don't worry, I was never an alcoholic. I came off completely the minute I realized what I was doing. Equally, I don't want to be the sad person in the corner that refuses a drink and then everyone assumes is a member of AA. I want to enjoy it, but not to need it. Do you understand?"
"I do, but—"
"Trust me; one glass each. Deal?"
What could I say? He was my host, and I couldn't deny him, but I'd have my rucksack packed and at the ready in case things got out of hand.
"Deal," I agreed.
As I sat on Railay Beach the next afternoon, I could feel the pre-Christmas electricity back in the air as all the hotels set up their verandas for the evening's festivities. Fed up with staring at the pathetic charcoal sketch I'd made of the limestone pillars, I stood up and walked across the sand toward the Railay Beach Hotel.
"Hi, Cee, how's it going?"
"Fine," I said to Jack, who was placing glasses on a long trestle table. He looked far perkier than last time I'd seen him a few days ago, propping up the bar with his umpteenth beer. The reason why appeared behind him and put a possessive hand on his shoulder.
"We short of forks," Nam said, glancing at me and giving me her usual death stare.
"Think I got some spare ones in the kitchen."
"Go get them now, Jack. Wanna set up our table for later."
"On my way. You coming tonight?" Jack asked me.
"I might pop down later on, yeah," I replied, knowing that "later on" he wouldn't know if Jesus Christ himself was ordering drinks at the bar.
Jack began to follow Nam into the kitchen, then paused and turned back. "By the way, a mate of mine thinks he knows who your mystery man on the beach is. He's gone off to Ko Phi Phi for the New Year, but he's gonna tell me more when he gets back."
"Right."
"See ya, Cee," he said as he trudged off toward the kitchen, following Nam with his tray like a little lamb behind Bo Peep. That big, butch man who could scale a rock face faster than anyone I'd ever met . . . I just hoped I never treated any future partner of mine like that. But I'd seen so many men being bossed about by demanding females, maybe they liked it.
Did I boss Star around? Is that why she left?
I hated my brain for planting the thought in my head, so I decided to ignore it and get on with a day that was meant to herald new beginnings. I comforted myself that whatever Jack's mate had to tell him about Ace was bound to be nothing. Out here, on a peninsula in the middle of nowhere, the fact that someone had eaten an ice cream instead of a lolly was news. Small communities thrived on gossip and people like Ace who kept to themselves sparked the most rumors. Just because my host hadn't sounded off to anyone and everyone during a drunken conversation didn't make him a bad person. In fact, I thought he was a very interesting person, with intelligent things to say.
As I walked back down the alleyway lined with stalls that led to my other life, I realized I was starting to feel defensive about Ace, just like I'd felt about Star when people had asked me if she was okay, because she was so quiet and didn't say very much.
I arrived back in my room and after showering and creaming—which I was worried was becoming a daily habit I had to lose before it took hold for good—and then dressing in my old kaftan, I wandered out onto the terrace. Ace was already there, wearing a crisp white linen shirt.
"Hi. Good day?" he asked me.
"Yeah, except the art's still going nowhere. I can't draw a square at the moment, let alone anything else."
"It'll come back, CeCe. You just need to get all the negative stuff they said out of your head. That takes time."
"Yeah, it sure seems to. What about your day?"
"The same really. I read a book, then went for a walk and thought about what it said. I've realized that none of these 'self-help' books can help, really, because at the end of the day, you've got to help yourself." He gave a wry grin. "There are no easy solutions."
"No, there never are. You've just got to get on with it, haven't you?"
"Yep. Ready for dinner?" he asked me eventually, breaking the silence that hung over the table.
"Bring it on."
An enormous lobster appeared in front of us, accompanied by numerous side dishes.
"Wow! Lobster is my absolute number one favorite seafood," I said happily as I tucked in.
"For a traveler whom I met sleeping on the beach, you seem to have seriously ritzy taste," he teased when we'd both cleaned our plates and moved on to a dessert of fresh fruit and homemade sorbets. "From what you've said, I presume your dad is rich?"
"Was, yeah." I realized I hadn't told Ace about Pa's death, but now was as good a time as any, so I did.
"Sorry to hear that, CeCe. So, this is the first Christmas and New Year without him?"
"It is."
"Is that why you're here?"
"Yes and no . . . I lost someone else close to me too, recently. Like, my soul mate."
"A boyfriend?"
"No, my sister actually. I mean, she's still alive, but she decided to go her own way."
"I see. Well, we are a pair, aren't we?"
"Are we? Have you lost someone too?"
"You could say I've lost just about everything in the past few months. I've got no one to blame but myself." He took a gulp of water. "Unlike you."
"It wasn't my fault Pa died, no, but I think I drove my sister away. By being . . . bossy." I finally voiced the word. "And maybe a bit controlling. I didn't mean to be, but she was really shy as a kid and didn't speak much, so I spoke for her and I guess it never changed."
"So she found her own voice?"
"Something like that, yeah. Broke my heart actually. She was my . . . person, if you know what I mean."
"Oh yes, I do," he said with feeling. "When you trust someone implicitly and they let you down, it's very hard."
"Has that happened to you?" I watched as he looked upward and saw real pain in his eyes.
"Yes."
"Do you wanna talk about it?" I asked him, realizing that he was always encouraging me to tell him my troubles, but whenever he started to talk about his own, he'd suddenly clam up.
"I can't, I'm afraid. For all sorts of reasons, including legal ones . . . Only Linda knows the truth," he murmured, "and it's best you don't."
There he went again, being the mystery man, and it was really starting to irritate me. I decided it was probably something to do with a woman who was taking him to the cleaners for his millions in a divorce and I wished he wouldn't feel so sorry for himself.
"You know I'm here if you ever want to talk," I offered, thinking that this was turning into a fun evening so far. Not.
"Thanks, CeCe, I appreciate it, and your company tonight. I was dreading spending New Year's Eve alone. As you said, it's just one of those nights, isn't it? Anyway, let's toast to your dad. And to friends old and new." We clinked our glasses of water. Then he glanced down at his watch—a Rolex, and definitely not picked up from one of the fake stalls in Bangkok. "It's ten to midnight. How about I pour us both that glass of champagne we've promised ourselves and we'll take a wander down to the beach to see in the New Year?"
"Sure."
While he was gone, I took a moment to text Star and wish her a happy New Year. I was tempted to tell her about my new friend, but thought she'd probably get the wrong end of the stick, so I didn't. Then I texted Ma and sent a round-robin message to my other sisters, wherever they all were in the world that night.
"Ready?" Ace stood there with a glass sparkling in each hand.
"Ready."
We walked to the gate and Po jumped up to open it for us.
"Five minutes to go . . . Any New Year's resolutions?" Ace asked me, as we stood on the shoreline.
"Blimey, I haven't thought of any. I know! To get back into my art, and to find the balls to go to Australia and discover where I came from."
"You mean, your birth family?"
"Yeah."
"Wow! That's something you haven't told me about."
"And your resolution?" I eyed him in the moonlight.
"To accept what is to come, and to take it with grace," he said, not looking at me, but staring up at the heavens. "And to make sure that this is the only glass of champagne I drink tonight," he added with a grin.
A few seconds later we heard the hoots of horns from the fishing boats moored out in the bay, then saw the flash of fireworks from nearby Railay Beach visible over the top of the limestone pillars.
"Oh wow!" I gasped as we saw Chinese lanterns floating gently upward into the sky from the other end of the beach.
"Cheers, CeCe!" he said, clinking his glass of champagne against mine. I watched as he drained the lot in a couple of mouthfuls. "God, that was good! Happy New Year!" Then he threw his arms around me and gave me an enormous bear hug, which sent most of my champagne flying over his shoulder and onto the sand. "You've saved my life in the past few days. I mean it."
"I don't think I have, but thanks anyway."
He pushed me gently back by the shoulders, one hand on each of them. "Oh yes, you have." Then he put his mouth to mine and kissed me.
It was a nice kiss, quite strong, yet soft at the same time. Like a hungry werewolf on Valium. My rational brain—the bit that normally recognized all the warning signs of such a move—did not respond, so the kiss went on for a really long time.
"Come on." Ace eventually dragged his mouth away from mine and began to pull me by the hand back up the beach. As we passed Po, who must have got an eyeful of us kissing, I smiled at him and wished him a happy New Year.
As Ace guided me to his room, his hand still holding mine, I felt like it really might be.
That night . . . well, without going into detail, Ace obviously knew what he was doing. In fact, he seemed to be a bit of an expert, while I definitely wasn't. But it's amazing how quickly you can learn something when you want to.
"CeCe," he said as he stroked my cheek after what must have been a few hours, because I could hear the faint twitter of birds, "you're just so . . . delicious. Thank you."
"That's okay," I said, even if I did feel like he was describing the flavor of an ice cream.
"This is just for now, isn't it? I mean, there can't be any future involved."
"Course not," I replied lightly, worried that I'd given him the impression I was clingy.
"Good, because I don't want to hurt you, or anyone, ever again. Night, sleep tight."
With that, he rolled away from me, in a bed that I reckoned was even larger and comfier than mine, and went to sleep on his side.
Of course it's just for now, I told myself as I too rolled over into my own space, realizing it was the first time I'd ever shared a bed with a man, as all the other previous fumbles had taken place in the great outdoors. I lay staring into the darkness, glad that the shutters on the windows were letting in tiny strips of New Year light, and thinking that this had been just what I needed. It was perfect, I told myself—a morale booster with no strings attached. I'd go off to Oz in a few days' time, and maybe me and Ace would keep in touch occasionally by text. I wasn't a Victorian heroine who had sacrificed her virtue and then got locked into marriage. My generation had been given the freedom to do what we liked with our bodies. And tonight I had liked . . .
Very carefully, my fingers moved toward him of their own accord, to find and touch his skin and to make sure he was real and breathing next to me. As he stirred, I drew them away, but he rolled back toward me and enveloped me in his arms.
Warm and safe with the weight of his body against me, I eventually fell asleep.
It transpired that New Year's Eve hadn't been a one-night stand. It became a regular morning, afternoon, and evening stand . . . or more precisely, a lying down. And when we weren't horizontal, we did fun things together. Like Ace dragging me out of bed at the crack of dawn to see the monkeys, who announced their presence with a loud thump on the roof as they invaded the palace in search of leftover food. Once I'd taken photos and one of the security guards had frightened them off with a miniature catapult, I'd skulk back to bed. Later on in the morning he'd wake me with a tray of nice things to eat. During the long, hot afternoons, we'd suck at pieces of pineapple and mango and wade through his collection of DVDs.
One sunrise, a plush speedboat had appeared in the shallows of the sea in front of the palace. Po helped us aboard, then whipped out a camera and offered to take a photo of us, which Ace immediately and vehemently vetoed. As we set off, Ace told me he was taking me somewhere special. Having driven my family's own speedboat up and down Lake Geneva, I soon took over the reins from the captain, steering the boat effortlessly over the waves and doing the odd wheelie just to scare him. When a wall of limestone pillars loomed above us in the middle of the sea, I let the captain take over again. He steered the boat expertly into a hidden lagoon, protected on all sides by vertiginous rocky walls. The water was green and calm, and there were even mangrove trees growing in it. It was called Koh Hong and it was paradise. I was the first to jump into the water, but Ace soon followed and we swam across it as though it were our own private swimming pool, cast away in the middle of the ocean.
Afterward, we sat on the boat deck drinking hot, strong coffee and basking in the peace and tranquility of that incredible place. Then I drove us home and we went to bed and made love. It was a wonderful day and one I knew I'd never forget. The kind of day that happens once in a lifetime, even to someone like me.
On the fifth night that I lay next to Ace in bed, my own room abandoned since New Year's Eve, I wondered if I was in a "relationship." Part of me was terrified, because it wasn't what I had intended, and Ace had made it clear he hadn't either. Yet, another part of me wanted to take a photo of the two of us looking romantically at each other on the beach and send it to all my sisters so that they would realize I wasn't a loser after all. This man, for whatever reason, liked me. He laughed at my jokes—which even I knew were really bad—and even seemed to find my funny little body "sexy."
But most of all, he "got" me in a way that only Star had before, and had arrived in my life just when I'd needed him. Both of us were adrift in this world and had washed up together on the same shore, not sure of what was coming next, and it was comforting to hold on to someone, even for a little while.
On the sixth day, I woke up of my own accord, looked at the clock, and saw it was almost one in the afternoon. Ace's usual delivery of fruit, croissants, and coffee was late. I was just about to get up and find him when he opened the door with a tray in his hands. I would have relaxed, except for the look on his face.
"Morning, CeCe. Sleep well?"
"Yeah, from four till now, as you know," I said as he set the tray down.
Normally, he'd come and lie next to me, but today he didn't. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed.
"I've got some stuff to do. Fancy taking yourself off somewhere for the afternoon?"
"Of course," I said brightly.
"See you for dinner tonight at eight?" He stood up and kissed me on the top of my head.
"Yeah, sure."
He left with a wave and a smile, and being a novice at this whole relationship thing, I couldn't work out whether this was normal. Was it because he had "stuff to do" and the world was finally getting back on its feet after New Year, or should I panic and pack my rucksack? In the end, not wanting to look as though I had nowhere to go and couldn't amuse myself, I walked back down the path to Railay with my sketch pad. As I walked up onto the veranda of the Railay Beach Hotel, I saw the beach was less crowded than it had been at New Year. Nam was serving at the bar, so I ordered a mango shake just so she would have to make it for me. Then I sat on the bar stool, watching her with a smug look that I wasn't proud of.
"You need room?" she asked me as she peeled the mango and dumped it into the blender.
"No, I'm fine, thanks."
"Which hotel you stay at?"
"The Sunrise Resort."
Nam nodded, but I saw a glint in her eye. "Not seen you for a while. Nobody seen you."
"I've been busy."
"Jay say he seen you on Phra Nang getting onto speedboat with man."
"Really? I wish." I rolled my eyes as my heart thumped. Jay was a guy I knew in passing from last year—a friend of Jack's. He'd helped out behind the bar sometimes, but was a full-time drifter who went wherever he could earn a crust. Someone had told me he'd once been a big-shot journalist until the drugs got him. I'd seen him sitting in here bold as brass, smoking a joint. Drugs were not something I approved of and here in Thailand, whether it was a joint or an armful of heroin, possession carried the same harsh penalty.
He'd also had a thing about Star, making a beeline for her every time we'd come in for a quiet drink. She found him as creepy as I did, so I'd made sure she was never alone with him.
"He say he saw you," Nam persisted as she passed over the mango shake. "You got a new boyfriend?"
She said it as if I'd had an old one . . . and then it dawned on me that perhaps she thought that Jack and I had been having a thing, what with me sleeping in his room. Christ, women could be so pathetic sometimes. It was obvious to everyone that Jack was putty in her small, slim hands.
"Nope," I said, then drained my glass as quickly as I could.
"Jay say he know man you were with. Bad man. Famous."
"Then Jay needs a new pair of glasses, 'cause it wasn't me." I counted out sixty baht with a ten-baht tip and put it down on the bar as I stood up.
"Jay in later. He tell you."
I shook my head and rolled my eyes at her again as though I thought she was crazy, then left, trying to act casual. Instead of turning right along the beach back to the palace, I turned left, where I'd told Nam my hotel was, just in case she or Jay, or anyone else for that matter, was watching. I dumped my shoes and towel on the beach in front of the hotel I'd said I was staying at, and walked into the water for a swim and a think.
What had she meant when she'd said that Jay had called Ace a "bad man"? In Nam's book, that probably meant he was a womanizer, nothing more. I knew Ace hadn't been short of girlfriends when he'd lived in London—he was forever mentioning different women he'd shared good times with. As for his being "famous," maybe he was, but I wouldn't know because I never read newspapers or magazines, due to my dyslexia.
I waded out and lay back on the sand to let my skin dry in the sun, and I wondered whether I should tell Ace. It was obvious he was paranoid about his privacy . . . What if he was some famous celebrity? I could always ask Electra—that was the world she lived in every day. And if he was, that would make her shut up for once—the ugly D'Aplièse sister, bagging herself a famous boyfriend. It was almost worth texting to ask her just for her reaction.
But I knew that if I did tell Ace someone was onto him, it would only worry him. And besides, Jay didn't know where he lived—or, at least, I hoped he didn't.
Perhaps I should tell Ace . . . but I had only a few days left there before I had to make my way to Australia and I didn't want to spoil our time together. I finally decided that once I was back inside the palace gates, I'd stay put and not come out until it was time for me to leave for the airport. And today, I just had to hope that no one was watching as I went back in.
Choosing a time just before sunset when Phra Nang Beach was beginning to empty but I could still remain inconspicuous among the throng, I went for another swim, then sat on my towel very near Po, who, when he saw me, immediately tried to press the keypad to let me in. I ignored him and lay down a few meters away. I'd slip inside when all eyes were turned on the sunset in front of me.
Twenty minutes later, the show began and I scurried up to the palace gates like a hunted animal.
I didn't know what to expect when I walked up the path to my room, but at least if Ace had suddenly gone off me and asked me to move out that night, the New Year rush was over and there was plenty of room in the hotels along the beach. Opening the door to my room, I smelled a flowery scent wafting on the air.
"I'm in here, come and join me."
I walked into the bathroom and saw Ace lying in the huge oval bathtub, which was surrounded by numerous tea lights giving off a softly scented glow. On top of the water floated hundreds of white and pink flower petals.
"Join me?"
I giggled.
"What's so funny?"
"You look like a surrealist's version of that famous painting of the dead Ophelia."
"You mean a hairier and uglier version? Cheers," he said with a grin. "And there was me trying to be romantic. Granted, the maid went over the top with the flowers, but never ask a Thai person to run your bath or you end up picking petals off yourself for days afterward. Come on, climb in."
So I did, and lay there with my head resting upon his chest and his arms holding me tight around my middle. It felt fantastic.
"Sorry about earlier," he whispered into my ear, and then gave it a soft kiss. "I just had some stuff to sort out on the phone."
"No need to apologize."
"I missed you," he whispered again. "Shall we eat in tonight?"
"We always do," I replied with a smile.
Much later, when we'd finally made it out of the bath and had tucked into a fresh fish in tamarind sauce, we took a stroll down to the beach and lay there looking up at the stars.
"Show me which one your star is," Ace asked me.
I located the milky cluster and pointed to it. "I'm the third one down from the top, at about two o'clock."
"I can only count six."
"There are seven, but it's really hard to see the last one."
"What's her name?"
"Merope."
"You've not mentioned her before."
"No. She never turned up. Or at least, Pa only brought six sisters home."
"That's weird."
"Yeah, now I think back, my whole childhood was weird."
"Do you know why he adopted all of you?"
"No, but you don't really wonder when you're a child, do you? You just accept it. I loved having Star and my sisters around me. Have you got brothers or sisters?"
"I'm an only child, so I never had to share anything." He gave a sharp laugh, then turned to me. "You don't talk much about your other sisters. What are they like?"
"Maia and Ally are the two oldest. Maia is really sweet, and so clever—she speaks about a million languages—and Ally is amazing, like, really brave and strong. She's had a bad time recently, but she's getting through it. I really admire her, you know? I'd like to be like her."
"So, Ally is your role model in the family?"
"Maybe, yeah, she is. And Tiggy . . ." I thought for a second, wondering how best to describe her. "Other than Star, she's the sister I'm closest to. She's very . . . what's the word for someone who seems to understand things without you saying them out loud?"
"Intuitive?" Ace guessed.
"Yes. She's got this incredibly positive way of looking at the world. If I painted it the way she saw it, it would just be the most beautiful thing. And then there's Electra," I mumbled, "but we don't get on." Then I turned the questioning back on him. "What about your childhood?"
"Like you, I didn't think it was weird at the time. I loved my mum and being brought up in Thailand, then shortly after she died I was sent to school in England."
"That must have been hard, being away from everything you knew."
"It was . . . fine."
"What about your dad?" I asked.
"I told you, I don't know him."
The tone of his voice was terse, and I sensed not to ask him more, even though I was seriously curious.
"Have you ever wondered if Pa Salt was your real father?" he asked eventually out of the darkness.
"I've never even thought about it," I said, even though suddenly I was thinking about it. "That would mean he traveled the world collecting his six illegitimate daughters."
"That would be strange," Ace agreed, "but surely there must be a reason?"
"Who knows? And actually, who cares? He's dead now, so I'm never going to find out."
"You're right. No point dwelling on the past, is there?"
"No, but we all do. We all think of mistakes we've made and wish we could change them."
"You haven't made any mistakes to change, have you? It was your parents who did that by giving you up."
I turned to look at Ace then, and maybe it was the moonlight, but his eyes seemed too bright, like he was holding back tears.
"Is that what your dad did? Gave you up?"
"No. So, are you going to search for your birth parents in Australia then?"
It was the patented Ace method of question-tennis and the ball had been expertly returned to me. I let him have this one because I knew he was upset.
"Maybe," I said with a shrug.
"How did you find out that's where you were born?"
"When Pa died last June, he left all us girls something called an armillary sphere, which had the coordinates of where he'd found us engraved on it."
"Where was yours?"
"A place called Broome. It's on the northwest coast of Australia."
"Right. What else?"
"He told me I should go there and find out about a woman called Kitty Mercer."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, from him anyway, but I also found out a few days later that I'd been left an inheritance."
" 'Curiouser and curiouser,' as Alice once said. Did you ever try to look up this Kitty Mercer on the Internet?" he asked.
"Er, no." I was glad that it was dark so he couldn't see me blush. I was beginning to feel like I was being interrogated. "It's not really fair that you're asking me all these questions when you won't answer any of mine."
He chuckled then. "You're great, CeCe. You just tell it how it is." Then he rolled me on top of him and kissed me.
Two days later, I woke up realizing I had no idea what the date was and knowing I'd completely lost track of time. I climbed out of bed and rifled through my rucksack to find the printout of my tickets back to Bangkok and on to Sydney. Then I checked my mobile for today's date.
"Oh shit! I leave tomorrow," I groaned, feeling horrified at the prospect. I slumped onto the bed just as Ace came through the door with the habitual tray. Perched among the croissants was a book.
"I got you something," he said as he set the tray down.
I stared at the book. On the front cover was a black-and-white photograph of a beautiful woman. She was wearing an old-fashioned dress with a very high neckline, fastened with rows of tiny pearl buttons. It took me a good few seconds to work out the name on the cover.
"Kitty Mercer, the Pearling Pioneer," I read out loud.
"Yes!" Ace said triumphantly, jumping under the covers with me, then handing me a cup of coffee. "I looked her up on Google—she has her own Wikipedia page, CeCe!"
"Really?" I nodded dumbly.
"She sounds incredible. From what I read, she achieved a lot in an age when women struggled to be in charge. So I ordered her biography and had it express delivered by speedboat from a bookshop in Phuket."
"You did what?" I eyed him.
"I've already skimmed through it and it's such an interesting story. You'll love it, really." He picked up the book and pushed it toward me and it was all I could do to stop myself recoiling from both him and it. I set the coffee down on the side table and climbed off the bed.
"Why have you gone to all this trouble?" I asked him as I pulled on my T-shirt. "It's none of your business. If I'd wanted to find all this out, I'd have done it myself."
"Christ! I was only trying to help! Why are you cross?"
"I'm not cross," I snapped, even though we both knew I was. "I haven't even decided yet if I want to find out anything about my original family!"
"Well, you don't have to read it now, you can keep it for when you're ready."
Ace tried to hand me the book again and I pushed it away.
"Maybe you should have asked me first," I said as I put on my shorts and immediately lost my balance, which didn't look as dignified as I'd needed it to.
"Yeah, maybe I should have."
I stomped out of the room and went upstairs to sit on the roof terrace, needing to cool down alone for a while.
Ten minutes later, he came to sit next to me on the silk sofa, one hand still clutching the book.
"What's really wrong, CeCe? Tell me."
I chewed on my lip for a bit, staring out at the people swimming in the ocean below us. "Look, it's really cool of you to go to the effort of getting that book. It can't have been easy to get it so quickly. I just . . . I'm not good with books. I never have been. That's why I haven't looked up anything about Kitty Mercer. I've got . . . dyslexia, really bad dyslexia actually, and I find it hard to read."
Ace put his arm around my shoulders. "Why didn't you just say so?"
"I dunno," I mumbled. "I'm embarrassed, okay?"
"Well, you shouldn't be. Some of the brightest people I know are dyslexic. Hey, I know, I'll read it out loud to you." He pulled me to him so I was nestling into his shoulder. "Right," he said, and began turning the pages before I could stop him.
" 'Chapter one. Edinburgh, Scotland, 1906 . . .' "
## KITTY
Edinburgh, Scotland
October 1906
## 6
Kitty McBride lay in her bed and watched the tiny house spider weaving its web around a hapless bluebottle that had flown into its trap in a corner of the ceiling. She'd seen the bluebottle buzzing across her ceiling last night before she turned out the gas lamp—a hardy last remnant of a warm autumn turning to winter. She mused that the spider must have been busy all night to mummify the bluebottle within its silken threads.
"That will surely be a month's supper for you and your family," she told the spider before drawing in a determined breath and throwing off her covers. Shivering her way across the freezing room to the washstand, she gave herself a far briefer lick and spit than her mother would have approved of. Through the small window, she saw a thick early morning mist was shrouding the terraced houses on the other side of the narrow street. She pulled on her woolen undershirt and fastened the buttons of her dress across her long, white throat, then scraped her mane of auburn hair off her face and into a coil on the top of her head.
"I look like a veritable ghost," she told her reflection in the looking glass as she moved to the undergarment drawer to retrieve her rouge. She dabbed a little on her cheeks, rubbed it in, then pinched them. She had purchased the compact at Jenners on Princes Street two days ago, having saved all her shillings from the twice-weekly piano lessons she gave.
Father, of course, would say that vanity was a sin. But then, Father thought most things were sinful; he spent his time writing sermons and then preaching his thoughts to his flock. Profanity, vanity, the demon drink . . . and his favorite of all: the pleasures of the flesh. Kitty often wondered how she and her three sisters had arrived on the planet; surely he would have had to indulge in those "pleasures" himself to make their births possible? And now her mother was expecting another baby, which meant that they must have done the thing together quite recently . . .
Kitty balked as a sudden image of her parents naked flew into her head. She doubted she would ever be able to remove her vest and bloomers in front of anyone—least of all a man. Shuddering, she replaced her precious rouge in the drawer so Martha, one of her younger sisters, wouldn't be tempted to steal it. Then she opened her bedroom door and hastened down the three flights of wooden stairs for breakfast.
"Good morning, Katherine." Ralph, her father, sitting at the head of the table with his three younger daughters sitting quietly along one side of it, looked up and gave her a warm smile. Everyone always said she resembled her father in looks, with his full head of curly auburn hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. His pale skin had barely a line on it, even though Kitty knew he was in his midforties. All his female parishioners were deeply in love with him and hung on every word he spoke from the pulpit. And at the same time, she thought, probably dreaming of doing all the things with him that he told them they shouldn't.
"Good morning, Father. Did you sleep well?"
"I did, but your poor mother did not. She is plagued by nausea, as she always is in the early stages of her pregnancies. I've had Aylsa take up a tray to her."
Kitty knew this must mean her mother was most unwell. The breakfast routine in the McBride household was usually strictly adhered to.
"Poor Mother," Kitty said as she sat down, one chair along from her father. "I shall go up and see her after breakfast."
"Perhaps, Katherine, you would be kind enough to visit your mother's parishioners today and run any errands she needs?"
"Of course."
Ralph said grace, picked up his spoon, and began to eat the thick oat porridge, which was the signal for Kitty and her sisters to begin too.
This morning, being a Thursday, breakfast was punctuated by Ralph testing his daughters on their addition and subtraction skills. The weekly timetable was sacred: Monday was spelling, Tuesday, capital cities of the world. On Wednesday, it was the dates of when the kings and queens of England had ascended the throne, with a potted biography of her father's choosing on one of them. Friday was the easiest as it covered the Scottish monarchy, and there hadn't been many Scottish kings and queens after England had taken over. Saturday was used for each child to recite a poem from memory, and on Sunday Ralph fasted to prepare for his busiest day and went to his church before anyone else in the household was up.
Kitty loved Sunday breakfasts.
She watched her sisters struggling to combine the numbers and then swallowing the porridge quickly to give the answer without their mouths being full, which would have elicited a disapproving frown from Father.
"Seventeen!" shouted Mary, the youngest sister at eight, who was bored of waiting for Miriam, her older sister by three years, to answer.
"Well done, my dear!" Ralph said proudly.
Kitty thought this was extremely unfair on poor Miriam, who had always struggled with her numbers and whose nervous personality was overshadowed by her more confident sister. Miriam was Kitty's secret favorite.
"So, Mary, as you have beaten your sisters to the answer, you may choose which parable I will tell."
"The Prodigal Son!" Mary said immediately.
As Ralph began to speak in his low, resonant voice, Kitty only wished he had taught them more parables from the Bible. In truth, she was very weary of the few he favored. Besides, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't understand the moral behind the tale of the son who disappeared for years from his family's table, leaving another son to take on the burden of his parents. And then, when he came back . . .
". . . bring the fatted calf and kill it. Let us feast and celebrate!" Ralph decreed for her.
Kitty longed to ask her father if this meant that anyone could behave just as they liked and still return home to a joyous welcome, because that was how it sounded. She knew Ralph would tell her that their Father in heaven would forgive anyone who repented of their sins, but in reality, it didn't sound quite fair on the other son, who'd stayed and been good all along, but didn't get the fatted calf killed for him. Then Ralph would say that good people got their reward in the kingdom of heaven, but that seemed an awfully long time to wait when others got it on earth.
"Katherine!" Her father broke into her thoughts. "You're daydreaming again. I said, would you please take your sisters up to the nursery and organize their morning studies? As your mother is too unwell to give them lessons, I shall come up to the nursery at eleven and we shall have an hour of Bible study." Ralph smiled benignly at his daughters, then stood up. "Until then, I will be in my study."
When Ralph appeared in the nursery at eleven, Kitty ran to her bedroom to retrieve the books she intended to return to the public library before she embarked on visiting her mother's parishioners. Descending the stairs to the entrance hall, she hastily pulled her thick shawl and cape from a peg, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the manse. As she tied the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin, she entered the drawing room and saw her mother sitting beside the fire, her pretty face gray and exhausted.
"Dearest Mother, you look so tired."
"I confess that I am feeling more fatigued than usual today."
"Rest, Mother, and I shall see you later."
"Thank you, my dear." Her mother smiled wanly as Kitty kissed her and left the drawing room.
Stepping out into the bracing morning air, she made her way through the narrow streets of Leith and was greeted by numerous parishioners, some of whom had known her since she was no more than a "squalling bairn," as they often liked to remind her. She passed Mrs. Dubhach, who, as usual, asked after the reverend and gushed over last Sunday's sermon, to the point where Kitty began to feel quite nauseous.
After bidding farewell to the woman, Kitty boarded the electric tram heading for central Edinburgh. After changing trams on Leith Walk, she alighted near George IV Bridge and headed for the Central Library. She glanced at the students who were chatting and laughing as they walked up the steps to the vast gray-brick building, lights shining out from the many mullioned windows into the drab winter sky. Inside the high-ceilinged main hall it was barely warmer than outside, and as she set her books down at the returns desk, she hugged her shawl tighter to her as the librarian dealt with the paperwork.
Kitty stood patiently, thinking about one particular book she had recently borrowed: Charles Darwin's On the Origin of Species, first published over forty years ago. It had proved to be a revelation for her. In fact, it had been the catalyst that had caused her to question her religious faith and the teachings that her father had instilled in her since childhood. She knew he would be horrified to think she had even read such blasphemous words, let alone given them any credence.
As it was, the reverend only grudgingly condoned her regular visits to the library, but for Kitty, it was her haven—the place that had provided the bulk of her education in subjects that went far beyond what she learned from Bible study or her mother's basic English and arithmetic lessons. Her introduction to Darwin had come about by chance, after her father had mentioned that Mrs. McCrombie, his church's wealthiest benefactor, was considering a visit to her relatives in Australia. Kitty's interest had been piqued, and knowing next to nothing about the distant continent, she had browsed the library shelves and had stumbled upon The Voyage of the "Beagle", which chronicled the young Darwin's adventures during a five-year journey around the globe, including two months spent in Australia. One of his books had led to another, and Kitty had found herself both fascinated and disturbed by the revolutionary theories Mr. Darwin espoused.
She wished that she had someone she could discuss these ideas with, but could only imagine her father's apoplexy if she ever dared to mention the word "evolution." The very idea that the creatures which populated the earth were not of God's design, but instead the outcome of millennia spent adapting to their environment, would be anathema to him. Let alone the notion that birth and death were not His to bestow, because "natural selection" determined that only the strongest of any species survived and bred. The theory of evolution made prayer seem rather arbitrary because, according to Darwin, there was no master beyond nature, the most powerful force in the world.
Kitty checked the clock on the wall, and having completed her business with the librarian, she did not linger among the shelves as she normally would, but made her way outside and caught a tram back to Leith.
Later that afternoon, she hurried toward home through the bitterly cold streets. Tall, austere buildings lined either side of the road, all made of the same dull sandstone that blended into the constant grayness of the sky. She could see by the layered light of the gas lamps that a heavy fog was descending on the city. She was weary, having spent the afternoon visiting sick parishioners—both those on her own list and those on her mother's. To her dismay, when she'd arrived at the front door of a tenement block on Queen Charlotte Street, she'd found that Mrs. Monkton, a dear old lady who Father swore had fornicated and drunk herself into poverty, had died the day before. Despite her father's comments, Kitty had always looked forward to her weekly visits with Mrs. Monkton, although trying to decipher what the woman said, due to the combination of a lack of teeth and an accent one could cut with a knife, was a task that took considerable concentration. The good humor with which Mrs. Monkton had taken her slide into penury, never once complaining about the squalor she lived in after her fall from grace—Aye, I was a lady's maid once, ye know. Lived in a reet grand house until the mistress saw the master had set his sights o' me, she'd cackled once—had provided Kitty with a benchmark. After all, even if the rest of her own life continued along the same narrow track, at least she had a roof over her head and food on her table, when so many others hereabouts did not.
"I hope you are in heaven, where you belong," whispered Kitty into the thick night air as she crossed Henderson Street to the manse on the other side of the road. As she neared the front door, a shadow crossed her path and Kitty stopped abruptly to avoid colliding with its owner. She saw that the shadow belonged to a young woman who had frozen in her tracks and was staring at her. Her tattered scarf had slipped from around her head to reveal a gaunt face with huge haunted eyes and pallid skin framed by coarse brown hair. Kitty thought the poor creature could only be about her own age.
"Do excuse me," she said, as she stepped awkwardly aside to let the girl pass. But the girl did not move, just continued to stare at her unwaveringly, until Kitty broke her gaze and opened the front door. As she entered the house, she felt the girl's eyes boring into her back and she slammed the door hurriedly.
Kitty removed her cape and bonnet, doing her best to divest herself of that pair of haunted eyes at the same time. Then she pondered the Jane Austen novels she'd read and the descriptions of picturesque rectories sitting in the middle of delightful gardens in the English countryside, their inhabitants surrounded by genteel neighbors leading similarly privileged lives. She decided that Miss Austen could never have traveled so far up north and witnessed how city clergymen lived on the outskirts of Edinburgh.
Just like the rest of the buildings along the street, the manse was a sturdy Victorian four-floor building, designed for practicality, not prettiness. Poverty was only a heartbeat away in the tenement buildings near the docks. Father often said that no one could ever criticize him for living in a manner above his flock, but at least, thought Kitty as she walked into the drawing room to toast her hands by the fire, unlike others in the neighborhood, the manse's inhabitants were warm and dry.
"Good evening, Mother," she greeted Adele, who was sitting in her chair by the fireside darning socks, resting them and the pincushion on her small bump.
"Good evening, Kitty. How was your day?" Adele's soft accent was that of Scottish gentility, her father having been a laird in Dumfriesshire. Kitty and her sisters had loved traveling south each summer to see their grandparents, and she had especially delighted in being able to ride horses across the sweeping countryside. She had always been perplexed, however, that her father had never accompanied them on their summer sojourns. He cited the need to remain with his flock, but Kitty had begun to suspect that it was because her grandparents disapproved of him. The McBrides, although wealthy, had come from what Kitty had heard termed "trade," whereas her mother's parents were descendants of the noble Clan Douglas, and frequently voiced their concern that their daughter lived in such reduced circumstances as a minister's wife.
"Mrs. McFarlane and her children send their best wishes, and Mr. Cuthbertson's leg abscess seems to have healed. Although I have some sad news too, Mother. I'm afraid Mrs. Monkton died yesterday."
"God rest her soul." Adele immediately crossed herself. "But perhaps it was a blessed relief, living like she did . . ."
"Her neighbor said they'd taken her body to the mortuary, but as there are no relatives and Mrs. Monkton hadn't a farthing to her name, there's nothing for a funeral or a decent burial plot. Unless . . ."
"I'll speak to your father," Adele comforted her daughter. "Although I know church funds are running low at the moment."
"Please do, Mother. Whatever Father said about her descent into sin, she had definitely repented by the end."
"And she was delightful company. Oh, I do so hate the onset of winter. The season of death . . . certainly around these parts." Adele gave a small shudder and put a hand protectively across her belly. "Your father's at a parish committee meeting this evening, then out to take supper with Mrs. McCrombie. He's hoping she will once more see her way clear to giving our church a donation. Heaven knows, it needs it. It cannot run on eternal salvation alone."
Or on the promise of something we cannot even see, or hear, or touch . . .
"Yes, Mother."
"Perhaps you would go upstairs to your sisters, Kitty dear? Bring them down to see me when they're in their nightgowns. I feel so weary tonight, I simply cannot climb the stairs to the nursery floor."
A surge of panic ran through Kitty. "You are still unwell, Mother?"
"One day, my dear, you will understand how draining pregnancy can be, especially at my age. We two shall eat at eight, and there is no need to dress for dinner, as your father is out," she added.
Kitty climbed the interminable stairs, cursing the double blight of being a minister's daughter and the eldest of a brood of four, soon to be five. She walked into the nursery and found Martha, Miriam, and Mary squabbling over a game of marbles.
"I won!" said Martha, who was fourteen and possessed a temperament as stubborn as Father's religious beliefs.
"It was me!" Mary retorted with a pout.
"Actually, I think it was me," put in Miriam gently. And Kitty knew it had been her.
"Well, whoever it was, Mother wants you to complete your ablutions, dress in your nightgowns, and go and kiss her good night in the drawing room."
"Go to the drawing room in our nightgowns?" Mary looked shocked. "What will Father say?"
"Father is out having supper with Mrs. McCrombie. Now," Kitty said as Aylsa arrived in the nursery with a washbasin. "Let's see the state of your faces and necks."
"D'ye mind sorting them out, Miss Kitty? I must see to the supper downstairs," Aylsa pleaded with her.
"Of course not, Aylsa." Kitty knew the girl, as their only housemaid, was utterly exhausted by this time of night.
"Thank you, Miss Kitty." Giving her a grateful nod, Aylsa scurried out of the nursery.
When all three of her sisters were in their white muslin nightgowns, Kitty marched them downstairs to the drawing room. As her mother kissed them good night one by one, Kitty decided that at least her early experience of childcare would stand her in good stead when she had children of her own. Then, looking at her mother's burgeoning stomach and the fatigue plain on her face, she thought that perhaps she wouldn't have any at all.
Once her sisters had been dispatched off to bed, Kitty and her mother sat down in the dining room to eat a supper of tough broiled beef, potatoes, and cabbage. They discussed church business and the coming festive season, which, for the McBride family, was the busiest time of the year. Adele smiled at her.
"You're such a good girl, Kitty, and I am so very glad of your help, both inside the house and out while I am . . . encumbered. Of course, soon it will be time for you to have a husband and a family of your own. You'll turn eighteen next week. Goodness, I can't quite believe it."
"I'm in no rush, Mother," said Kitty, remembering the last time the minister of the North Leith parish had come to tea with his wife and pointedly introduced her to his son, Angus. The young man had blushed every time he'd spoken through thick, wet lips about how he was to follow his father into the ministry. She was sure that he was perfectly nice, but although she still didn't quite know what she wanted, it certainly wasn't to be the wife of a minister. Or Angus.
"And I will be lost without you here," Adele continued, "but one day it will be so."
Kitty decided to grasp the moment, for it was not often she and her mother were alone. "I wanted to ask you something."
"What is it?"
"I have been wondering whether Father would consider letting me train as a teacher. I would so very much like to have a profession. And, as you know, I enjoy teaching my sisters."
"I am not sure that your father would approve of you having a 'profession,' as you put it," Adele said with a frown.
"Surely, he would see it as God's work? Helping the less fortunate to learn to read and write," Kitty persevered. "It would mean I was no longer a burden to you if I was earning my own keep."
"Kitty dear, that is what a husband is for," Adele said gently. "We must remember that even though your father has selflessly given himself to the Lord and his path has led us here to Leith, you are a descendant of the Douglas clan. No woman from my family has ever worked for a living. Only for charity, as we both do now."
"I cannot see how anyone—either my grandparents or the Lord above—would think it shameful for a woman to work. I saw an advertisement in the Scotsman for young women to train as teachers and—"
"By all means, ask your father, but I am sure that he will wish for you to carry on doing your good works in the parish until you find a suitable husband. Now, my back is aching on this hard chair. Let us go and sit in the drawing room where it is warmer and more comfortable."
Frustrated by her mother's lack of support for the idea she'd been harboring for the past few weeks, Kitty did as she'd been bidden. She sat by the fire as her mother took up her knitting for the forthcoming baby and pretended to read a book.
Twenty minutes later, they heard the front door open, heralding the return of the Reverend McBride.
"I think I will retire to bed, Mother," said Kitty, not in the mood to make conversation with her father. Crossing him in the hallway, she dipped a curtsy. "Good evening, Father. I trust you had a pleasant supper with Mrs. McCrombie?"
"Indeed I did."
"Well then, good night." Kitty made for the stairs.
"Good night, my dear."
A few minutes later Kitty climbed into bed, noticing how the spider had wrapped its web so thoroughly around the bluebottle that it was hardly to be seen, and praying that her father had not set his daughter in a similar trap of the marriage variety.
"Please, Lord, anybody but Angus," she groaned.
The following morning, Kitty sat at the desk in her father's study. She had offered to take over the task of completing the parish accounts while her mother was indisposed, which included totting up the amounts from the collection plate at church, along with any other charitable donations, and balancing them against what seemed like frighteningly large outgoings. As she worked through this week's columns of figures, she heard a loud knocking on the front door and ran to answer it before it woke her mother, who was resting upstairs.
She opened the door to a young woman whom she recognized immediately as the girl who had appeared outside the manse the night before.
"Good morning. May I help you?"
"I need tae see Ralph," the young woman said, urgency apparent in her voice.
"The Reverend McBride is out visiting parishioners," Kitty said. "Might I pass on a message?"
"You're no' lyin', are ye? I reckon he's bin hidin' from me. I need tae speak to him. Now."
"As I said, he is not at home. May I pass on a message?" Kitty repeated firmly.
"Ye tell him Annie needs a word. Ye tell him it can't wait."
Before Kitty could reply, the young woman turned swiftly and ran off down the street.
As she closed the front door, Kitty wondered why the woman had used her father's Christian name . . .
When Ralph arrived home two hours later, she tapped tentatively on the door of his study.
"Come."
"Sorry to disturb you, Father, but a young lady came by the house this morning."
"Really?" Ralph looked up, put down his pen, and removed his reading glasses. "And what did she want? A few ha'pennies, no doubt. They all do."
"No. She specifically asked me to tell you that 'Annie needs a word.' And it can't wait. Apparently," Kitty added lamely. There was a pause before Ralph put his reading glasses back on his nose and picked up his pen once more. He began to write as Kitty hovered in the doorway.
"I think I know the girl," he responded eventually. "She waits outside the church on Sundays. I took pity on her once and threw her some coins from the collection. I'll deal with her."
"Yes, Father. I'll be off to run some errands now." Kitty withdrew from the study and hurried to retrieve her bonnet, shawl, and cape, relieved to escape from a sudden tension she felt but couldn't begin to describe.
On the way back home with a heavy basket of eggs, milk, vegetables, and a waxed wrapper full of the haggis her father loved and the rest of the family tolerated, the cold wind stiffened. Kitty pressed her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she walked down a narrow alley that was a shortcut to Henderson Street. The sight of a familiar figure just ahead of her in the deepening gloom made her freeze where she was. Her father was standing on a doorstep with the poor creature—Annie—who had knocked on the manse door earlier that day. Kitty shrank back into the shadows, instinct telling her she should not reveal herself.
The woman's features were contorted in what could have been pain or anger as she whispered hoarsely to him. Kitty watched as Ralph reached out and gripped Annie's hands tightly, before leaning in close to whisper something in her ear and planting a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, with a wave, he turned and walked away. Annie stood alone, her hands clasping and unclasping over what Kitty saw was a markedly distended belly. A second later, she disappeared inside and the door was firmly shut.
After waiting a good five minutes Kitty walked home, her legs unsteady beneath her. Mechanically, she went through her chores, but her mind was continually spinning with possible answers to what she had seen. Perhaps it hadn't been what it had seemed; perhaps her father had simply been comforting the poor woman in her distress . . .
Yet, in the darkest corner of her mind, Kitty already knew.
Over the following few days, she avoided her father as much as she could, the situation made easier by the fact her eighteenth birthday was fast approaching. The house positively buzzed with secrets and excitement at the prospect of a celebration, her sisters shushing her out of the room to whisper conspiratorially together, and her parents spending time together in the drawing room with the door firmly closed.
On the eve of her birthday, Ralph caught her as she headed upstairs to bed.
"My dearest Katherine, tomorrow you will no longer be a child."
"Yes, Father." Kitty could not bring herself to meet his gaze.
"You are a credit to both myself and your mother." Ralph bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "Good night, and God bless you."
Kitty nodded her thanks and continued up the stairs.
In bed, she pulled the covers over her head, shivering in the late autumn chill.
"Lord, forgive me," she sighed, "for I'm no longer sure who my father is."
Aylsa was already up to lay the fires when Kitty descended the stairs the next morning. Needing some fresh air to clear the fog of confusion and the exhaustion of another restless night, she slipped out of the house and walked in the direction of the docks.
She stopped to sit on a low wall, watching the sky's slow awakening, which sent hues of purple and pink across its miraculous breadth. Then she saw a figure emerge from the street that she had just walked down. It was Annie, who Kitty realized must have seen her passing along the alley and followed her.
Their gazes locked as the woman approached her.
"He came tae see me," said Annie gruffly, dark smudges of exhaustion evident beneath her eyes. "He cannae hide no more behind God. Aye, he knows the truth!"
"I . . ." Kitty moved away from her.
"What'm I meant to do?" Annie demanded. "He gave me a few coins and told me to go get rid o' it. I cannae, I'm too far gone."
"I don't know, I'm sorry, I—"
"Och, you're sorry! Fat lot of good that does me! It's your daddy that needs to be sorry."
"I have to go. I really do apologize," Kitty repeated as she rose to her feet, picked up her skirts, then walked swiftly away in the direction of home.
"He's the devil!" Annie shouted after her. "That's the truth!"
Somehow, Kitty got through the rest of the day—she opened the thoughtful homemade presents from her sisters and blew out the candles on the cake that Aylsa had made especially for her. She suppressed a shudder as Ralph kissed and embraced her—a natural act that, up until a few days ago, she had delighted in. Now it somehow felt unclean.
"My dear, you have grown into a fine young woman," Adele said proudly. "I pray that one day soon you will have a family of your own and be the lady of your own household."
"Thank you, Mother," Kitty replied quietly.
"Dearest Katherine, my special girl. Happy birthday, and may the Lord bless you in your future. I believe He has something special in mind for you, my dear."
Later that evening, Kitty was called into her father's bare cell of a study that lay at the back of the house facing a brick wall. He always said that the lack of a view helped him focus on his sermons.
"Katherine, do come and sit down." Ralph indicated the hard-backed wooden chair in the corner of the room. "Now then, you are aware that I had supper with Mrs. McCrombie recently?"
"Yes, Father." Whenever Kitty had glanced at her father's patron across the aisle in church, she had seen an extravagantly dressed, plump middle-aged woman who looked out of place in the far poorer crowd. Mrs. McCrombie never visited them at home. Instead, her father went to see her in her grand house just off Princes Street. Therefore, the sum total of their shared conversation amounted to a polite "good morning" if their paths crossed outside church after the service.
"As you know, Katherine, Mrs. McCrombie has always been a generous benefactress of our church and our community," said Ralph. "Her eldest son went into the clergy but was killed in the first Boer War. I fancy she rather sees me as his replacement, and, of course, gives to the church in his memory. She's a good woman, a Christian woman who wants to help those less fortunate than herself, and I'm eternally grateful that she has chosen my church as her charity."
"Yes, Father." Kitty wondered where this was leading and hoped the conversation would be over soon. It was her eighteenth birthday, after all, and just now, she could hardly bear to breathe the same air as him.
"The point is that, as you know, Mrs. McCrombie has family in Australia, whom she hasn't seen for many years, namely her youngest sister, her brother-in-law, and two nephews who live in a town called Adelaide on the south coast. She has decided that while she is still in good health, she should go to visit them."
"Yes, Father."
"And . . . she is looking for a companion to accompany her on the long journey. Obviously, the girl must come from a good Christian home and also be able to assist her in the care of her wardrobe, dressing her, and the like. So . . . I have suggested you, Katherine. You will be away for nine months or so, and having discussed it with your mother, I feel it's a wonderful opportunity for you to go and see some of the world, and at the same time, settle that restless spirit of yours."
Kitty was so shocked at his suggestion, she had no idea how to answer him. "Father, really, I am quite content here. I—"
"It is in you, Kitty, just as it was once in me before I found the Lord . . ."
Kitty watched his eyes leave her face and travel to somewhere far distant in his past. Eventually, they came to focus back on her. "I know you are searching for a purpose, and let us pray you will find it through being a good wife and mother one day. But for now, what do you say?"
"In truth, I hardly know what to say," she replied honestly.
"I will show you Australia in the atlas. You may have heard that it is a dangerous and uncharted country and it is certainly full of heathen natives, although Mrs. McCrombie assures me that the town of Adelaide is as civilized a society as Edinburgh. Many of our faith sailed there in the 1830s to escape from persecution. She tells me there are several beautiful Lutheran and Presbyterian churches already built. It is a God-fearing place and under Mrs. McCrombie's wing, I have no hesitation in sending you there."
"Will I . . . will I be paid for my services?"
"Of course not, Katherine! Mrs. McCrombie is funding a berth for you and covering all other expenses. Do you have any idea how much such a trip costs? Besides, I think it's the least our family can do, given what she has so generously donated to our church over the years."
So I am to be offered as a living, breathing sacrifice in return . . .
"So, my dear. What do you think of that then?"
"Whatever you believe is best for me, Father," she managed, lowering her eyes so that he couldn't see the anger contained within them. "But what about Mother when the baby arrives? Surely she will need my help?"
"We have discussed that, and I have assured your mother that when the time comes, I will see that funds are available to hire extra help."
In all her eighteen years at the manse, there had never been "funds" to "hire extra help."
"Katherine, speak to me," Ralph implored her. "Are you unhappy about this arrangement?"
"I . . . don't know. It . . . has all come as a surprise."
"I understand." Ralph leaned down and took her hands in his, his mesmeric eyes boring into hers. "Naturally you must be confused. Now, you must listen to me. When I met your mother, I was a captain with the Ninety-Second Highlanders and our futures looked set. Then I was sent to fight in the Boer War. I saw many of my friends—and enemies—extinguished by the fire of other men's rifles. And then I myself was shot at the Battle of Majuba Hill. In hospital afterward, I had an epiphany. I prayed that night that if I were saved, I would dedicate my life to God, give every breath to try to halt the injustice and the bloody murder that I'd seen. The following morning, with the doctors not expecting me to last the night, I woke up. My temperature was down and my chest wound healed within days. It was then I knew and understood what my future path would be. Your mother understood too; she is full of God's love herself, but in doing what I felt I must, she has suffered, and so have you and your sisters. Do you see, Katherine?"
"Yes, Father," Kitty answered automatically, although she didn't.
"This journey to Australia with Mrs. McCrombie is an opening to the kind of society that your mother's family is part of. Just because I feel a need to save souls does not mean that the future of my daughters should be curtailed. I am sure that if you acquit yourself well on this trip, Mrs. McCrombie would be happy to introduce you to a wider circle of young gentlemen both here and in Australia that might make a more suitable match for you than I ever could, given our humble financial status. She knows of my sacrifice to further the Lord's work and of the aspirations of your mother's family in Dumfriesshire. She wishes to do her best for you, Katherine. And so do I. Now then, do you understand?"
Kitty looked at her father, then at the soft hands that were clutching hers, and an unbidden memory of a moment similar to this made her withdraw them. Finally, she understood all too well the machinations of her father's mind and his plan to rid himself of her.
"Yes, Father, if you think it best, I will go with Mrs. McCrombie to Australia."
"Wonderful! Of course, you will need to meet with Mrs. McCrombie so that she can see for herself what a good girl you are. And you are, aren't you, dear Katherine?"
"Yes, Father." Kitty knew she must leave the room before her anger overflowed and she spat in his face. "May I go now?" she asked coldly, rising from her chair.
"Of course."
"Good night." Kitty dipped a curtsy, then turned tail and almost ran out of the study and upstairs to her bedroom.
Closing the door and locking it behind her, she threw herself onto her bed.
"Hypocrite! Liar! Cheat! And my poor mother—your wife—expecting a child too!" She spat the words into her pillow. Then she cried long, stifled sobs of despair. Eventually, she stood up, put on her nightgown, and brushed her hair in front of the mirror. Her reflection glowed pale in the gaslight.
You know that I see through you, Father. And that is why you are sending me away.
## 7
Your father is such an inspiration to me, Miss McBride, and I'm sure to you too."
"Of course," lied Kitty as she sipped the Earl Grey tea from a delicate china cup. They were sitting in the large overheated drawing room of a grand house in St. Andrew Square, one of the most sought-after addresses in Edinburgh. The room was stuffed with more elegant objects than she'd seen in Miss Anderson's fancy-goods emporium. A display cabinet lined one wall, cluttered with statuettes of cherubs, Chinese vases, and decorative plates. A chandelier dripping with crystals bathed everything in a soft light which gleamed off the polished mahogany furniture. Mrs. McCrombie was obviously not one to hide her wealth.
"So devoted to his flock and denying both himself and his family all the advantages that your mother's birthright could have given him."
"Yes," Kitty replied automatically. Then, looking at the glazed eyes of her soon-to-be employer, she decided that the older woman looked like a young girl in love. She also noticed the large amount of face powder Mrs. McCrombie had caked on her skin and thought about how much it must have cost to cover the many lines that wriggled their way across her face. The high color of her cheeks and her nose spoke of too many drams of whiskey.
"Miss McBride?" Kitty realized Mrs. McCrombie was still speaking to her.
"I do beg your forgiveness. I was just looking at that rather marvelous painting," Kitty improvised, pointing out a drab and miserable depiction of Jesus carrying the cross on his shoulders to Calvary.
"That was painted by Rupert, my beloved son, God rest his soul. Just before he went off to the Boer War and ended up in Jesus's arms. Almost as if he knew . . ." Then she beamed warmly at Kitty. "You obviously have an eye for art."
"I certainly enjoy things of beauty," Kitty responded, only relieved she'd managed to say the right thing.
"Then that is to your credit, my dear, given there have been so few of them around you during your childhood, due to your dear father's sacrifice. At least it will have prepared you for what we may find in Adelaide. Even though my sister assures me they have every modern convenience I myself enjoy here in Edinburgh, I can hardly believe that such a new country can compete with a culture of centuries."
"I will indeed be interested to see Adelaide."
"And I will not," Mrs. McCrombie said firmly. "However, I feel it is my duty to visit my sister and my young nephews at least once before I die. And as they seem disinclined to come here, I must journey there." Mrs. McCrombie gave a mournful sigh as Kitty sipped her tea. "The journey will take at least a month aboard the Orient, a ship which my sister Edith assures me provides every comfort. However . . ."
"Yes, Mrs. McCrombie?"
"If you accompany me, there will be no fraternizing with young men aboard ship. No carousing, or attending any of the dances in the lower-class lounges. You will share a berth with one other young lady and you will be available to me at all times. Is that understood?"
"Completely."
"My sister has also warned me that even though it is winter here, it will be summer there. I have a seamstress sewing me a number of muslin and cotton gowns and I suggest you source similar attire for yourself. In essence, the weather will be hot."
"Yes, Mrs. McCrombie."
"I am sure you know that you are awfully pretty, my dear. I hope you won't be one of those gels who swoons at the mere glance of a man."
"I have never thought of myself as such," said Kitty, seeing her freckled complexion in her mind's eye, "but I assure you that I will not. After all, my father is a minister in the church and I have been taught modesty."
"Your father tells me that you can sew and mend? And know how to pin up hair?"
"I fashion my mother's and my sisters'," Kitty lied, thinking she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. She was going to Australia, and that was that.
"Do you get sick often?" Mrs. McCrombie raised her eyeglass to study Kitty more closely.
"My mother tells me I survived diphtheria and measles, and I rarely get a cold."
"I hardly think that that will be our greatest concern in Australia, although of course I will pack some camphor oil for my chest. Well now, there is little more to discuss. We shall meet again on the thirteenth of November." Mrs. McCrombie rose and offered her hand. "Good day to you, Miss McBride. We shall cross the oceans together with a sense of adventure."
"We will. Good-bye, Mrs. McCrombie."
Kitty spent the following two weeks preparing the small trunk that had been bought for her by her father. The fact she was following in Darwin's footsteps so soon after reading his books seemed positively surreal. Perhaps she should have been frightened: After all, she had read enough in his books to know that the natives in Australia were extremely hostile toward the white man and cannibalism had even been rumored. She doubted Mrs. McCrombie would venture anywhere near where that kind of thing would happen, especially as any native who cooked her in his pot would have a decent meal for his extended family.
The house grew quiet as she worked into the night on her sewing machine, fashioning simple gowns which she hoped would be suitable in the heat. And at least the activity gave her a focus that blunted the gnawing in her stomach every time she thought about Annie and her father. She knew she had one last thing to do before she left.
The morning of her departure, Kitty woke before dawn and hurried out of the house before anyone saw her. Walking down the alley that led toward the docks, she tried to calm herself by taking in the sights and sounds of Leith for the last time. It was the only home she had ever known in all of her eighteen years and it would be what seemed like a lifetime before she saw it again.
She arrived at Annie's door, drew in a deep breath, and knocked cautiously. Eventually, the door was opened and Annie appeared, dressed in a threadbare smock and apron. Her eyes traveled briefly over Kitty's face, before she silently stood aside to let her pass.
The small room within was sparsely furnished and bitterly cold. The stained horsehair mattress on the floor looked uninviting, but at least the floor was swept and the rough wooden table in the center of the room looked well scrubbed.
"I . . . came to see how you were," Kitty began tentatively.
Annie nodded. "Aye, I'm well. And so's the bairn."
Kitty forced her eyes down to look at the neat bump that contained what was soon to be her half brother or sister.
"I promise you, I'm nae a sinner," Annie said hoarsely. Kitty looked up to see tears in her eyes. "I only . . . I was only with the reverend twice. I trusted in God's love, in your father's love, that he . . . Ralph would guide me. I . . ." She broke her gaze from Kitty's and went to a dresser in the corner, searching for something in a drawer.
She returned with a pair of reading glasses, which Kitty recognized immediately. They were identical to those her father wore to write his sermons.
"Ralph left them here last time he came tae see me. I promised him I'd keep what happened tae m'self. And I made a promise tae God an' all. Ye give him these back. I want nothing of his under my roof any longer."
Kitty took the glasses from Annie, wondering if she might be sick all over the floor. Then she reached into her skirts and drew out a small drawstring pouch.
"I have something for you too." Kitty handed the pouch to Annie.
Annie opened it, looked inside, and gasped. "Miss, I cannae take this from you, I cannae."
"You can," Kitty insisted. For the past two weeks, she had secreted away coins from the parish donations, and last night had taken a bundle of notes from the tin her father kept locked in a drawer. It was an amount large enough to provide future sustenance for Annie and the baby, at least until she could work again. By the time Ralph discovered it was missing, Kitty would be on her way to the other side of the world.
"Then thank you." Annie pulled out the other item in the bag—a small silver cross on a chain. She ran her fingers over it uncertainly.
"It was given to me at my christening by my grandparents," Kitty explained. "I want you to keep it for the . . . the child."
"It's kind of ye, Miss McBride. Very kind. Thank you." Annie's eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"I'm leaving for Australia today . . . I'll be gone for some months, but when I return, may I come again to see how you're getting on?"
"Of course, miss."
"In the meantime, I'd like you to have the address of where I'll be staying. In case of an emergency," Kitty added, holding out an envelope and then feeling foolish—she had no idea if the woman could even read or write, let alone whether she would know how to post a letter to another country. But Annie merely nodded and took it.
"We'll never forget your kindness," she said as Kitty moved toward the door. "G'bye, miss. And may the Lord keep ye safe on your travels."
Kitty left the dwelling, then walked toward the docks and stood on the edge beside the seawall, watching the seagulls hover over the mast of a ship chugging into port. She took the reading glasses from her skirt pocket, then threw them as far as she could into the gray water below her.
"Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light," she muttered. "God help my father, and my poor, deluded mother."
"All ready?" Adele appeared at Kitty's bedroom door.
"Yes, Mother," she replied as she snapped the locks down on her trunk and reached for her bonnet.
"I will miss you desperately, dearest Kitty." Adele came toward her and enveloped her in a hug.
"And I you, Mother, especially as the baby will be born without its big sister being present. Please take care of yourself while I am not here to make sure you do."
"You mustn't worry, Kitty. I have your father, Aylsa, and your sisters with me. I will send you a telegram as soon as he or she has made their appearance in the world. Kitty, please don't cry." Adele brushed a tear from her daughter's cheek. "Just think of the stories you'll have to tell us when you arrive home. It's only nine months, the same time it takes for a little one to be born."
"Forgive me, it is simply that I will miss you so very much," Kitty sobbed onto her mother's comforting shoulder.
Shortly afterward, standing at the front door with her trunk being loaded onto Mrs. McCrombie's carriage, Kitty proceeded to hug her sisters. Miriam in particular was crying inconsolably.
"My dearest Katherine, how I will miss you."
Then Ralph took her into his arms. She stood, tense and taut, inside them. "Remember to say your prayers every day, and may the Lord be with you."
"Good-bye, Father," she managed. Then, pulling herself free of him and with one last wave at her beloved family, she climbed into the carriage, and the driver shut the door behind her.
As the RMS Orient hooted and began to make her way out to sea, Kitty stood on the deck watching her fellow shipmates screaming good-byes to their relatives below them. The quay was packed with well-wishers waving Union Jacks and the occasional Australian flag. There was no one to wave her off, but at least, unlike many of the people around her, she knew she would be returning to England's shores.
As the well-wishers became indistinguishable figures and the ship steamed down the Thames Estuary, a silence fell on those around her as each of the passengers realized the enormity of the decision they had made. As they dispersed, she heard the odd sob—and knew they were wondering if they would ever see their loved ones again.
Although she had seen the big vessels that docked in Leith Harbor many times, it now seemed a daunting task for this steamship to carry them across the seas safely to the other side of the world, despite the impressive height of the two funnels and the masts that held swaths of sails.
Walking down the narrow stairs to the second-class corridor that contained her berth, Kitty felt rather like this entire experience was happening to someone else. Opening the door and wondering how she would ever sleep with the rumble of the huge engines below her, she made a forty-five-degree turn in order to close the door behind her. The room—if one could call it that, its dimensions being akin to a short, thin corridor—contained two coffinlike bunks and a small storage cupboard in which to put clothes. A washbasin sat in the corner and Kitty noticed that it and all the other fittings were bolted to the floor.
" 'Ello. You me new roommate?"
A pair of bright hazel eyes framed by a shock of dark curly hair appeared over the wooden rail of the top bunk.
"Yes."
"My name's Clara Dugan. 'Ow d'you do?"
"Very well, thank you. I'm Kitty McBride."
"From Scotland, eh?"
"Yes."
"Me, I'm from the good ol' East End o' London. Where you 'eaded?"
"To Adelaide."
"Never 'eard of it. I'm going to Sydney meself. You're dressed smart. You a lady's maid?"
"No. I mean . . . I'm a companion."
"Oooh! Get you," said Clara, but not unkindly. "Well, if I knows anything about the gentry, unless your lady 'as brought a maid as well, it's you who'll do all the fetching and carrying on board. And who'll mop up 'er puke when we're on rough seas. Me brother Alfie told me the ole ship stank for days when there was a storm. 'E's there already, making a right good life for 'imself, 'e says. 'E told me to save up me money so I wouldn't have to go steerage. Five souls died on 'is crossing," Clara added for good measure. "I worked night and day for two years in a factory to pay for me berth. It'll be worth it, though, if we get there."
"Goodness! Then let's hope our journey goes more smoothly."
"I can be anyone I want to be when I get there. I'll be free! Ain't that just the best?" Clara's bright eyes danced with happiness.
There was a sudden rap on the door and Kitty went to open it. A young steward was grinning at her.
"Are you Miss McBride?"
"Yes."
"Mrs. McCrombie has requested you go to her cabin. She needs help unpacking her trunk."
"Of course."
As Kitty followed the steward out of the cabin, Clara lay back with a wry smile.
"Well, at least some of us are free," she shouted after Kitty.
After an initial night tossing and turning in her bunk, enduring feverish half dreams of storms, shipwrecks, and being eaten alive by natives, all punctuated by loud snores from the bunk above her, Kitty's days soon fell into a routine and passed quickly. While Clara slept on, Kitty was up at seven to wash, dress, and tidy her hair. Then she'd walk along the gently rolling corridor and take the stairs to the first-class section on the deck above her.
She'd found her sea legs almost immediately, and even though both Clara and Mrs. McCrombie had taken to their beds as they'd encountered what the crew had called a "gentle swell," Kitty was surprised to find herself feeling very well indeed. This had earned her much praise from the crew, especially from George, Mrs. McCrombie's personal steward, who Clara said had the "eye" for her.
Compared to the sparse decor of the second-class berths, the first-class accommodation was positively sumptuous. Underfoot were plush carpets with intricate William Morris designs, the brass furnishings were polished to a high shine, and exquisitely carved wooden paneling adorned the walls. Mrs. McCrombie was in her element, dressing every evening for dinner in an array of extravagant gowns.
Kitty spent most of her mornings attending to Mrs. McCrombie's personal needs, which included an awful lot of mending. She sighed at the torn seams of corsets and bodices, eventually surmising that Mrs. McCrombie must have refused to reveal her true size to her seamstress out of vanity. At lunchtime Kitty would go to the second-class dining room and eat with Clara. She was amazed at how fresh the food was and by the dexterity of the waiters as they carried trays of drinks and plates across the sometimes heaving floors. In the afternoons, she would take a bracing walk on the promenade deck, then retire with Mrs. McCrombie to the first-class saloon to play bezique or cribbage.
As the steamer progressed south through the Mediterranean, stopping briefly in Naples before continuing to Port Said and then easing through the Suez Canal, the weather became warmer. Even though Mrs. McCrombie refused to leave the ship when it docked, citing how they might pick up some "deadly plague from one of the natives," looking out onto these impossibly exotic foreign shores, Kitty began to feel the feverish grip of adventure.
For the first time in her life, she flouted the rules and danced at rousing ceilidhs, held in the smoky, gas-lit third-class saloon. Clara had practically dragged her to the first one and Kitty had sat primly on the sidelines as she watched her friend enjoy dance after dance to the lively Celtic band. She was soon persuaded to join in, and found herself whirled from one young man to another, all of whom behaved like perfect gentlemen.
She'd also warmed toward Mrs. McCrombie, who, after a whiskey or three at cocktail hour, displayed a wicked sense of humor as she told raucous jokes that would surely have given her father a heart attack. It was during one of these evenings that Mrs. McCrombie confided her nerves at seeing her younger sister again.
"I haven't seen Edith since she was eighteen, not much older than you, my dear, when she left for Australia to marry dear Stefan. She's almost fifteen years younger than me—her arrival was rather a shock to Papa." Mrs. McCrombie gave a smirk and then burped discreetly. "She looks nothing at all like me either," Mrs. McCrombie added as she gestured for a waiter to top up her glass. "And I suppose you know that your father was quite the ladies' man when my family knew him in those days."
"Really? Goodness," Kitty replied neutrally, hoping Mrs. McCrombie would elaborate, but her patron's attention had already been claimed by the ship's band starting up and the conversation was not pursued.
As they approached Port Colombo in Ceylon, the good ship Orient was tossed about in heavy seas. Kitty remained upright, tending to both Mrs. McCrombie and Clara, as they turned green and took to their beds. She mused that seasickness was indeed the greatest social leveler as no amount of wealth could prevent it. Passengers of all classes were at the mercy of the choppy waves, and the ship's stewards were kept busy handing out ginger infusions, which supposedly settled the stomach. Kitty could not stop Mrs. McCrombie pouring generous measures of whiskey into her medicinal drinks, claiming, "Nothing will stop the awful spinning, so I might as well run with it, my dear."
As they crossed the vast Indian Ocean, the continent of Australia like a promised land before them, Kitty experienced a heat stronger than she could ever have imagined. She sat with Mrs. McCrombie on the promenade deck—the best place to catch a breeze—with a book from the ship's library and pondered how she had acquired an identity all of her own. No longer was she just the Reverend McBride's daughter, but a capable woman who had the best sea legs George the steward had ever known on a woman, and was quite able to stand on them without the protection of her mother and father.
As she looked up at the cloudless skies, the horror of what she had discovered before she had left was thankfully receding farther into the distance along with Scotland. When Mrs. McCrombie announced they were only a week away from their destination, Kitty experienced a stomach roll that had nothing to do with the movement of the ship. This was Darwin's land—the land of a man who did not hide behind God to explain his own motives or beliefs, but celebrated the power and creativity of nature. The best and worst of it in all its beauty, rawness, and cruelty, laid bare for all to see. Nature was honest, without bigotry or hypocrisy.
If she could find an accurate metaphor for how she currently felt, Kitty decided it would be akin to Mrs. McCrombie shrugging off her too-tight corsets and deciding to breathe again.
Most of the passengers were on deck the morning that the Orient was close to a first sighting of Australia's coastline. Excitement and trepidation were palpable as everyone craned their necks to see what, for so many on board, would be their home and the start of a new life.
As the coastline came into view, a strange hush descended on deck. Sandwiched between the blue of the sea and the shimmering sky lay a thin, red-colored strip of earth.
"Quite flat, ain't it?" Clara said with a shrug. "No 'ills I can see."
"Yes, it is," said Kitty dreamily, hardly able to believe she was actually seeing with her own eyes what had previously appeared as an unreachable blob in an atlas.
As the ship drew into the port of Fremantle and berthed in the harbor, cheering broke out. It appeared to Kitty even larger than the Port of London, where they had originally embarked, and she marveled at the impossibly tall passenger and cargo ships that lobbied for space at the quayside, and the crowds of all creeds and colors going about their business beneath her.
"Golly-gosh!" Clara threw her arms around Kitty. "We've actually gone and made it to Australia! 'Ow's that then?"
Kitty watched the disembarking passengers walk down the gangplank clutching their worldly goods and their children to them. A few were met by friends or relatives, but most stood on the dock looking dazed and confused in the bright sunshine, until they were rounded up and led off by an official. Kitty admired each and every one of them for their courage to leave a life in the country of their birth to make a new and better one here.
"A rough old crowd, from what I could see," said Mrs. McCrombie over a luncheon of lamb chops in the dining room. "But then, Australia was initially populated by the dregs of society, shipped from England. Convicts and criminals, the lot of them. Except for Adelaide, of course, which was built to a plan to encourage the more . . . genteel among us to make a life there. Edith tells me it's a good, God-fearing town." She cocked her ear nervously as the unfamiliar twang of Australian voices floated up through the open windows, fanning herself violently as beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead. "One can only hope that the temperature in Adelaide will be cooler than it is here," she continued. "Good Lord, no wonder the natives run about with no clothes on. The heat is quite unbearable."
After lunch, Mrs. McCrombie went to her cabin for a nap and Kitty wandered back onto the deck, fascinated by the cattle still being led off the boat. Most of them looked emaciated and bewildered as they stumbled down the gangplank. "So far from the fresh green fields of home," she whispered to herself.
The following morning, the ship set off again, with Adelaide as its next stop. The two days before their arrival were spent packing Mrs. McCrombie's extensive wardrobe back into her trunks.
"Perhaps you can come and visit me in Sydney when I'm settled in? It can't be that far between the towns, can it? It looked close on the map," Clara commented over their last lunch together on board.
Kitty asked George the steward later that night whether this might be possible, and he chuckled at her ignorance.
"I'd reckon that in a straight line, it's over seven hundred miles between Adelaide and Sydney. And even then, you'd have to see off tribes of blacks carrying spears, let alone the 'roos, and snakes and spiders that can kill you with one bite. Did you look on the map, Miss McBride, and wonder why there's no towns in the interior of Australia? No white human can survive for long in the outback."
When Kitty settled down to sleep for her last night on board, she sent up a prayer.
"Please, Lord, I don't mind snakes or kangaroos, or even savages, but please don't have me cooked alive in a pot!"
As the Orient sailed into Adelaide port, Kitty bade farewell to a tearful Clara.
"So, this is good-bye then. Been nice knowin' ya, Kitty. Promise to write to me?"
The two girls hugged each other tightly.
"Of course I will. Keep safe, Clara, and I hope all your dreams come true."
As Kitty helped Mrs. McCrombie down the gangplank, she felt on the verge of tears herself. Only now, at the point of disembarkation, did she realize how she would miss her shipboard friends.
"Florence!" Kitty watched as a slim, elegant woman with a head of rich mahogany hair waved and walked toward them.
"Edith!" The two sisters gave each other a restrained peck on both cheeks.
Kitty walked behind them as a liveried driver led them to a carriage. She glanced at Edith's attire—a brocade dress buttoned up to her neck, not to mention the corset and bloomers that would lie beneath it—and wondered how she stood the heat. Kitty longed to plunge stark naked into the cool waters lapping at the dock.
When they reached the carriage, a young boy with the blackest skin Kitty had ever seen was heaving the trunks onto the rack at the back of it.
"Goodness!" Mrs. McCrombie turned to her suddenly. "In my excitement at seeing you, dear sister, I have forgotten to introduce you to Miss Kitty McBride, the eldest daughter of one of our dear family friends, the Reverend McBride. She has been my helpmeet and savior during the voyage," Mrs. McCrombie added fondly, with a glance at Kitty.
"Then I am pleased to make your acquaintance," replied Edith, sweeping a cool gaze over Kitty. "Welcome to Australia and I hope you will enjoy your stay with us here in Adelaide."
"Thank you, Mrs. Mercer."
As Kitty waited for the two sisters to climb into the carriage, she had the strongest feeling that Edith's welcome was as hollow as it had sounded.
## 8
The dusty journey from the port through the stifling heat had begun with tin-roofed shacks near the docks, graduating to rows of bungalows and, finally, to a wide street lined with gracious houses.
Alicia Hall, named after Edith's mother-in-law, was a grand white colonial mansion, sitting on Victoria Avenue. Built to withstand the heat of the day, the house was surrounded on all sides by cool, shady verandas and terraces fenced with delicate latticework. At sunset, a chorus of insects that Kitty could not yet name produced a cacophony of sound.
Since arriving three days ago, Mrs. McCrombie—or Florence, as Edith called her—had spent her time either sleeping off the arduous voyage in her room, or sitting with Edith on the veranda as they caught up with each other's lives.
Currently, the three of them were the only residents in the hall: Mr. Stefan Mercer, Edith's husband and the master of the house, was apparently away seeing to one of his many business interests, and the couple's two sons were also absent. Apart from breakfast, lunch, and dinner—when neither sister included her in conversation beyond an initial greeting and a "good day" when she left—Kitty had kept to her airy pastel-painted room on the upper floor of the house.
So far, the solitude had been no hardship. Kitty had been content to take a book from the downstairs library and read it on the terrace that led from her bedroom. But as the days continued to drag on in the same routine and Christmas approached, Kitty's thoughts turned to home. As she wrote a letter to her family, she could almost breathe in the freezing foggy air, and see in her mind's eye the huge Christmas tree on Princes Street, festooned with tiny lights that bobbed and danced in the breeze.
"I miss you all," she whispered as she folded the notepaper in two, her eyes wet with tears.
After breakfast, she normally took a perambulation around the vast and lush garden. It was laid out in sections, with clear paths cut into the grass, some of them shaded by frames filled with wisteria. Dark green topiary bushes were perfectly pruned, as were the herbaceous borders that contained bright specimens she had never seen before—fiery pink and orange flowers, glossy green leaves, honey-scented purple blooms into which large blue butterflies dipped to drink the sweet nectar.
The boundaries of the garden were lined by huge trees with unusual ghost-white bark. Whenever she drew close to them, she smelled a gorgeously fresh herbal scent wafting on the breeze, and promised herself she'd remember to ask Edith what they were.
Yet, however beautifully maintained it was, Kitty was beginning to feel as if Alicia Hall were a luxury prison. Never before in her life had she been so devoid of activity; an army of servants took care of the occupants' every need and with Australia waiting for her behind the garden walls and little to keep her busy, time began to hang heavy upon her.
As Christmas grew nearer, Kitty was walking back from the garden after her morning stroll when she saw a man appearing through the back gates. She stopped in her tracks, taking in the red dust that covered his shock of indeterminate-colored hair, his filthy clothes and boots. Her first instinct was to dash inside and tell the servants there was an itinerant lurking on the property.
She slid behind a pillar on the veranda and watched him surreptitiously from behind it as he moved toward the servants' entrance.
"G'day," he called out, and Kitty wondered how he could see her as she was extremely well hidden. "I can see your shadow, whoever you are. Why are you hiding?"
She knew that the man could easily grab her as she ran across the veranda to safety, but reminded herself that she'd been in far worse situations with drunken Scotsmen on the docks. So she took a deep breath and revealed herself.
"I wasn't hiding. I was merely sheltering from the sun."
"It's pretty strong this time of year, but nothing compared to the heat up in the north."
"I wouldn't know. I've only just arrived."
"Have you indeed? From where?"
"Scotland. Do you have business at this house?" she demanded.
He appeared amused at the question. "Well, I hope I do, yes."
"Then I will tell Mrs. Mercer that she has a visitor when she returns."
"Mrs. Mercer isn't at home at present?"
"I am assured that she will return soon," Kitty replied, realizing her mistake. "But there are many servants in the house."
"Then I shall go and speak with them about my business," he stated, striding toward the rear entrance that led to the kitchen. "Good day to you."
After hurrying inside and climbing the stairs up to her room, then walking out onto her terrace, she saw a horse and cart clopping out of the back gates a few minutes later. Relieved that the servants must have seen him off, she collapsed onto her bed, fanning herself violently.
That evening, Kitty readied herself to go down for dinner. She still marveled at the fact that on the other side of the world in a land of heathen natives, there was electric light and a bathtub that could be filled any day she chose. Kitty took a long refreshing dip, pinned up her hair, cursed her freckles, then walked down the elegant curved staircase. She came to an abrupt halt, for below her was the most exquisite and unexpected sight: a Christmas tree bedecked with tiny glistening ornaments that glimmered in the soft light of the chandelier overhead. The familiar scent of pine reminded her so much of Christmas Eve with her family, it brought a tear to her eye.
"God bless you all," she whispered, as she continued downward, comforting herself that this time next year, she'd be back at home. As she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw a man, dressed formally for dinner, hanging the last bauble on the tree.
"Good evening," said the man, emerging from the branches.
"Good evening." As she stared at him, Kitty realized there was something familiar about the timbre of his voice.
"Do you like the tree?" he asked, walking toward her, his arms crossed as he looked up at his handiwork.
"It's beautiful."
"It's a present for my . . . Mrs. Mercer."
"Is it? How kind."
"Yes."
Kitty looked at him again, his dark hair gleaming under the light and . . .
"I believe we have met already, Miss . . . ?"
"McBride," Kitty managed, realizing exactly who he was and why she recognized him.
"I am Drummond Mercer, Mrs. Mercer's son. Or at least, her number two son," he added.
"But . . ."
"Yes?"
"You . . ."
Kitty watched his eyes fill with amusement and felt her face flush with embarrassment.
"I'm so sorry. I thought—"
"That I was an itinerant, come to rob the house?"
"Yes. Please do accept my apologies."
"And you must accept mine for not introducing myself earlier. I came overland from Alice Springs by camel, which is why I looked so . . . déshabillé."
"You came by camel?"
"Yes, camel. We have thousands of them here in Australia, and contrary to what people may tell you, they are the most reliable form of transport across our treacherous terrain."
"I see," said Kitty, trying to take all this in. "Then no wonder you looked filthy. I mean, if you'd been riding across Australia. I came here by boat, and it took me a number of weeks and . . ." Kitty knew she was "wittering on," as her father always used to say.
"You are forgiven, Miss McBride. It is quite incredible how the dirtiest vagrant can scrub up well, is it not? I took a pony and cart when I arrived here to go and collect our tree for Mother from the docks. We have one shipped over every year from Germany and I wanted to make sure I got the pick of the crop. Last year, the needles dropped off within a day. Well now, shall we go through to the drawing room for drinks?"
Kitty pulled herself up to her full height and squared her shoulders as she took his proffered hand. "I'd be delighted."
That night at dinner, with Drummond at the table, Kitty felt that the atmosphere had lightened. He teased her mercilessly over her earlier mistake, with Mrs. McCrombie having to wipe the tears of laughter from her cheeks. Only Edith sat there with a look of distaste on her face at the hilarity.
Why is she so cold toward me? Kitty wondered. I have done nothing wrong . . .
"So, Miss McBride, have you ventured into our quality little town yet?" Drummond asked her over pudding.
"No, but I would certainly love to as I am yet to buy Christmas tokens for your family," she confided to him in a whisper.
"Well, I must go tomorrow to see to some . . . business. I can offer you a lift on the pony and cart if you wish."
"I would be most grateful, Mr. Mercer. Thank you."
After their unfortunate initial meeting, Kitty had to admit that Drummond had proved to be delightful company. He had an easygoing way about him and a lack of formality that Kitty found hugely appealing. He was also quite the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on, what with his height and broad shoulders, bright blue eyes, and thick, wavy dark hair. Not that that was relevant, of course, Kitty thought as she slipped into bed later. He'd hardly be looking at her—the daughter of a poor clergyman and strewn with hundreds of freckles. Besides, the thought of any man coming anywhere near her made her shudder. When it came to physical intimacy, all she could think of presently was the hypocrisy of her father.
Drummond handed her up onto the cart the next morning and Kitty settled herself next to him.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "Thank you."
The horse clopped out of the gates and along the wide avenue. Kitty breathed in the glorious smell that she couldn't quite place.
"What is that scent?" she asked him.
"Eucalyptus trees. Koalas love them. My grandmother tells me that when they built Alicia Hall in 1860 there were a number of koala families living in the trees."
"Goodness! I have only ever read about them in books."
"They look very much like living, breathing teddy bears. If I see one, I'll show you. And if you hear a strange bellow at night that sounds akin to something between a snore and a growl, you'll know there's a male koala in the grounds foraging for leaves or on the prowl for a mate."
"I see." Kitty was slowly getting used to Drummond's odd accent—it was a mixture of German intonation and the odd soft Scottish burr on a word, all mixed in with an occasional Australian expression for good measure. The sun was burning down on her, and she pulled her bonnet lower to shield her face.
"Struggling with the temperature, are you?"
"A little, yes," she admitted, "and the sun burns my skin in an instant."
"It will toughen up soon enough, and I must say you have the most adorable freckles."
She shot Drummond a glance to see if he was making fun of her again, but his expression was steady as he concentrated on steering the horse down the increasingly busy road. Kitty sat quietly as they entered the town, noticing that the streets were far wider than in Edinburgh, and the buildings sturdy and elegant. Well-dressed residents were strolling along the paths, the women holding parasols to ward off the sun's strong rays.
"So, what do you make of Adelaide so far?" Drummond asked her.
"I haven't seen enough of it to judge."
"Something tells me you keep your thoughts to yourself, Miss McBride. Is that true?"
"Mostly. Simply because I doubt other people would be interested in them."
"Some of us would," he offered. "Quite the enigma, aren't you?"
Again, Kitty did not reply, unsure whether it was a compliment or an insult.
"I went to Germany once," he said, breaking another silence. "So far, it's my only trip to Europe. I found it cold, dark, and rather dull. Australia may have its problems, but at least the sun shines here and everything about it is dramatic. Can you cope with a little drama, Miss McBride?"
"Perhaps," she replied neutrally.
"Then you will do well in Australia, because it isn't for the fainthearted. Or at least, outside the city boundaries it isn't," he added as he pulled the pony and cart to a halt. "This is King William Street." He indicated a street lined with shops, their frontages painted in bright colors, with gleaming signs advertising their wares. "It's as civilized as it gets. I will drop you here on Beehive Corner, and collect you in two hours at one o'clock prompt. Does that suit you?"
"It suits me very well, thank you."
Drummond dismounted from the cart and offered Kitty his hand to help her down. "Now, go and do what you ladies seem to enjoy best, and if you're a good girl, I'll take you off to see Father Christmas on Rundle Street later. G'day." Drummond winked at her as he climbed back onto the cart.
Kitty stood there in the dusty street watching the carriages, the horse-drawn carts, and the ponies which bore men with wide-brimmed hats. Looking up, she saw what Drummond had referred to as "Beehive Corner"—a beautiful red and white building with arches and finials, topped off with a delicately painted bee. Confident she would find it again, she walked along the street, peering through the windows. Now perspiring profusely in the heat, she came across a haberdashery shop and entered to peruse the surprisingly large selection of ribbons and laces on offer. It was, if that was possible, even hotter inside the shop than out. Feeling the sweat dripping down the back of her neck, she bought a yard of lace for both Mrs. McCrombie and Mrs. Mercer, and some white cotton fabric for the men, thinking that she could fashion it into handkerchiefs and stitch Scottish thistles into the corners.
She paid and left the oppressive fug of the shop before she disgraced herself and fainted right then and there. Hurrying along the road, desperately in search of shelter from the sun and a cooling glass of water, she staggered onward until she spied a sign in the distance: THE EDINBURGH CASTLE HOTEL.
She burst through the doors into a crowded, smoky room with enormous fans stirring the air above her head. Pushing her way through to the bar and hardly noticing that the entire room had gone silent at her presence, she sank onto a stool and mouthed, "Water, please," to a barmaid, whose bodice seemed fittingly low-cut for the intense heat. The girl nodded and scooped some water from a barrel into a mug. Kitty grabbed it and drank the lot down, then asked for another. Once that was drained and her senses began to return to her, she raised her head and looked up to find forty or so pairs of male eyes studying her.
"Thank you," she said to the barmaid. And, gathering her dignity, she stood up and began to walk toward the door.
"Miss McBride!" An arm caught hers just as her hand reached for the brass doorknob. "What a coincidence to see you here."
She looked up into the amused eyes of Drummond Mercer and felt the heat rising once again to her cheeks.
"I was thirsty," she replied defensively. "It's very hot out there."
"Yes, it is. In retrospect, I should never have left you alone on the street, being a newcomer to these climes."
"I am perfectly fine now, thank you."
"Then I am glad. Is your shopping complete?"
"Complete as it will ever be. How anyone can shop in this heat, I really don't know," she said, fanning herself.
"A wee measure o' whiskey for you, miss?" said a voice from behind her.
"I—"
"Medicinal purposes only," Drummond reassured her. "I'll keep her company, Lachlan," he added as they threaded their way back to the bar. "And by the way, this young lady hails from Edinburgh."
"Then any dram the lassie wants is on the house. 'Tis a shock when you first arrive here, miss," the man continued as he slid behind the counter and opened a bottle. "Aye, I remember that first week when I believed I'd arrived in hell. An' dreamed o' the foggy, bitter nights back home. There, get that down yae and we'll toast to the old country."
Even though she had never partaken of alcohol, having watched Mrs. McCrombie knock back huge whiskies night after night on board the Orient, Kitty assured herself that one small glass wouldn't harm her.
"To the homeland," Lachlan toasted.
"To the homeland," Kitty replied. As the two men threw the golden liquid back in one, she took a small sip of her own and swallowed. It trickled down her throat, burning her tender insides. The assembled company were watching her with interest, and feeling the whiskey settle quite nicely in her stomach, she tipped the glass back and drained it. Then, as her new companions had done, she slammed it down on the bar.
"Aye, a true Scots lass." Lachlan gave her a mock bow, and the onlookers cheered and clapped appreciatively. "Another dram for us all!"
"Well, well," said Drummond, as he handed her a fresh glass, "most impressive, Miss McBride. We might make an Aussie of you yet."
"I am no coward, Mr. Mercer, you should know that now," Kitty said as she tipped the second whiskey down her throat, then sat down abruptly on her stool, feeling far better than she had a few minutes earlier.
"I can see that, Miss McBride." Drummond nodded sagely.
"Now, how about a chorus of 'Over the Sea to Skye' for the bonnie wee lass who's homesick for our land," cried Lachlan.
The entire bar burst into song, and really, Kitty thought, having spent her life as part of a quavery female church choir, there were some quite tuneful male voices. After that, she accepted another dram of whiskey and joined in with a rousing chorus of "Loch Lomond." She was led to a table, and sat down with Drummond and Lachlan.
"So, where did you live, missy?"
"Leith."
"Aye!" Lachlan banged the table and poured himself another whiskey from the bottle. "I was born in the south. The commoners' parts, o' course. But enough of the old country, let's see more of that famous Scottish bravery then!" He poured another dram into Kitty's glass and raised an eyebrow at her.
Without a word of retort, she lifted the glass to her mouth and drained it, her eyes fixed on Drummond's.
An hour later, having demonstrated various Scottish dances with Lachlan to cheers from the onlookers, Kitty was just about to drain another dram when Drummond covered it with his hand. "Enough now, Miss McBride. I think it's time we took you home."
"But . . . my friends . . ."
"I promise I will bring you back here another day, but we really must return home, or Mother may think I've abducted you."
"Aye, if I were a few years younger," Lachlan chimed in, "I'd be doing the same myself. Our Kitty is a beauty, she is. And don't yae worry, wee lassie. Ye'll do very well here in Australia."
As Kitty tried but failed to stand, Drummond hauled her upright. Lachlan planted affectionate kisses on both her cheeks. "Merry Christmas! And just remember, if ye're ever in any trouble, Lachlan's always at your service."
Kitty did not remember much of the walk to the horse and cart, although she most certainly remembered the feeling of Drummond's arm supporting her about her waist. After that, she must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew, she was in his arms being carried through the entrance to Alicia Hall and up the stairs, and lowered gently onto her bed.
"Thank you kindly," she murmured, then hiccuped. "You're a very kind man."
## 9
Kitty awoke groggily in darkness with what felt like a herd of elephants stampeding inside her head. She sat up and then winced, because the elephants were pounding her brain to mush with their enormous feet and the contents of her stomach were rising to her throat . . .
Kitty leaned over the side of the bed and vomited onto the floor. Groaning, she reached for the bottle of water that sat beside her bed and drank its contents swiftly, then sank down onto the pillows, trying to clear her addled mind. And when she had, wishing fervently she hadn't.
"Oh Lord, what have I done?" she whispered, horrified at the thought of Mrs. McCrombie's face—she may well have been partial to the odd dram herself, but would certainly not approve of her "companion" knocking back whiskey in bars and singing rousing choruses of old Scottish ballads . . .
It was all just too dreadful . . . Kitty closed her eyes and decided it was best to slip back into unconsciousness.
She was woken again by the sound of voices and the putrid smell of vomit that filled the room.
Was she on board the ship still? Had there been a storm?
She sat up, and was at least relieved that the herd of elephants seemed to have moved on from her head to pastures new. The room was pitch-black, and Kitty reached to turn on the gas lamp by her bed, immediately seeing the pool of vomit on the floor below her.
"Oh Lord," she whispered, as she stood up on jellylike legs. Her head throbbed as she forced it to be vertical, but she managed to wobble toward the washstand and retrieve some muslin cloths and the enamel washbasin to try to clean up the mess. She dumped the soiled cloths in the basin, wondering what on earth she should do with them. The door creaked open and she turned to see Drummond standing on the threshold.
"Good evening, Miss McBride. Or should I call you Kitty, the pride of Scotland and the Edinburgh Castle Hotel?"
"Please . . ."
"Only teasing, Miss McBride. We do a lot of that here in Australia, as you've no doubt discovered. How are you feeling?"
"I think you can see very well for yourself." She looked down at the bowl of her own sick that was resting on her knees.
"Then I will come no further, partly because of the smell in here—I suggest that when you make your way downstairs, you open the doors to your terrace—but mostly because it would be highly unseemly to be found in a lady's bedroom. I have told both my mother and my aunt that, due to my lack of care for you, you suffered a bout of sunstroke while out shopping in town and are therefore too unwell to join us for dinner."
Her eyes lowered in embarrassment. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Kitty. In truth I should apologize to you. I should never have encouraged you to drink that first whiskey, let alone the second and third, especially in the heat, when I knew you were unused to both."
"I had never drunk a drop before in my life," Kitty whispered. "And I am thoroughly ashamed of my behavior. If my parents could have seen me . . ."
"But they didn't, and no one shall ever hear of it from my lips. Take it from me, Kitty, when one is away from one's family, it is sometimes pleasant to be able to be oneself. Now, Agnes will be up shortly with some broth and also to remove that basin you are holding toward me like a Dickensian orphan."
"I shall never drink another drop for as long as I live."
"Well, even though today was the best entertainment I've had in a long time, I must hold myself responsible for your suffering now. Try to rest and get some broth down you. It is Christmas Eve tomorrow, and it would be a shame for you to miss that. Good night."
Drummond closed the door and Kitty put the stinking basin down onto the floor, horror and humiliation suffusing her.
What was it that Father always said about situations like this? Perhaps not this particular situation, Kitty acknowledged with a grimace, but he'd always taught her that having made a mistake, one should hold one's head up high and learn from it. So, she decided, tonight she would not lie up here and allow Drummond to believe she was a flimsy wallflower. Instead, she would join the assembled company downstairs for dinner.
That will show him, she thought as she took a deep breath and teetered over to her wardrobe. By the time Agnes the maid knocked on the door, she was dressed and combing her sweat-matted hair up into a neat knot on the top of her head.
"How are you feeling, Miss McBride?" Agnes asked her. The girl was even younger than Kitty herself and spoke with a strong Irish lilt.
"I am recovered now, thank you, Agnes. When you return downstairs, please tell Mrs. Mercer that I will be joining the table for dinner."
"Are you sure, miss? Pardon for sayin' so, but ye've still got that green color on ye and it wouldn't be doing at all to be ill at the table," Agnes said as she wrinkled her nose at the stinking basin and covered it with a clean muslin cloth.
"I am perfectly well, thank you. And I do apologize for that." Kitty indicated the basin.
"Oh, don't be bothering yourself, I've had much worse before they installed a privy here," Agnes said with a roll of her eyes.
Ten minutes later, Kitty was making her way gingerly down the staircase, hoping she wasn't making a terrible mistake, as even the fresh scent of pine made her feel nauseous. She saw Drummond standing below her, arms folded, admiring the Christmas tree.
"Good evening," she said as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "I decided I was well enough to join you for dinner after all."
"Really? And who might you be?"
"I . . . please don't tease," she begged him. "You know very well who I am."
"I assure you that we have never been formally introduced, although I have to presume that you are Miss Kitty McBride, my aunt's companion."
"You know I am, sir, so please stop playing games. If this is some new joke, a punishment for earlier . . . I—"
"Miss McBride, how wonderful to see you up and about after your terrible bout of sunstroke!"
Now Kitty knew how ill she must be, as another Drummond appeared from the drawing room, a glint of amusement and warning in his eyes.
"Pray, let me introduce my brother, Andrew," he continued. "As you may have just realized, we are twins, although Andrew was born two hours earlier than I."
"Oh," Kitty said, thanking the Lord that Drummond had arrived when he did, or she might have revealed all to Andrew. "Forgive me, sir, I did not realize."
"Please don't worry at all, Miss McBride. I can assure you, it's a very common mistake." Andrew walked toward her and held out his hand. "I am very pleased to finally make your acquaintance and delighted that you are well enough to join us this evening. Now, shall I escort you into the dining room? We must introduce you to our father."
Kitty took Andrew's proffered elbow gratefully, her legs still feeling unsteady beneath her. She caught Drummond giving her a sly wink but turned her head away and ignored it.
The dining table was bedecked with festive decorations: Elegant gold napkin holders and sprigs of fir tree with red baubles nestled inside them shimmered in the glow from the candles. Kitty watched in fascination as the Mercers said a prayer in German, before Andrew lit the fourth candle in the intricate wreath that sat in the center of the table.
As everyone sat down, Andrew caught Kitty's look of curiosity.
"They are Advent candles," he explained. "My parents were kind enough to wait for me to return home so I could light the last one before Christmas Eve—it was always my favorite thing to do as a child. It is an old German Lutheran tradition, Miss McBride," he added.
Over a dinner of beef, which she managed to swallow if she took very small bites and chewed each one thoroughly, Kitty studied the twins surreptitiously. Even though identical in looks, with their dark hair and blue eyes, their personalities were anything but. Andrew seemed much the more serious and thoughtful of the two, sitting next to her and asking her polite questions about her life back in Edinburgh.
"I must apologize on behalf of my brother. He should have known that the midday sun was far too strong for any young lady, especially one so newly arrived to these shores." Andrew frowned across the table at Drummond, who responded with a nonchalant shrug.
"You know me, brother dear. I'm totally irresponsible. Good job you now have Andrew around to protect you, Miss McBride," he added.
At the head of the table sat Stefan Mercer, the twins' father. He had the same blue eyes as his sons, but was rather on the portly side, with a large bald patch covered in freckles atop his head. He told her of how his family had arrived on Australia's shores seventy years ago.
"You may already know that many of our forefathers originally came to Adelaide because it allowed them to worship the Lord in any religion they chose. My grandmother was German and joined a small settlement named Hahndorf up in the Adelaide Hills. My grandfather was a Presbyterian from England, and they met here and fell in love. Australia is a freethinking country, Miss McBride, and I no longer subscribe to any particular man-made doctrine. As a family, we worship at the Anglican cathedral in the town. Tomorrow night we will go there for Midnight Mass. I do hope you will feel able to accompany us."
"It will be a pleasure," said Kitty, touched that Stefan was obviously concerned that it was not a Presbyterian church.
Struggling over pudding—a delicious trifle with real cream on the top of it—Kitty listened to the three men talk about the family's business interests, which seemed to have a lot to do with something called "shell," and how many tons of it the crews had brought back on something they called "luggers." Drummond talked of "mustering," which she surmised was somehow linked with "heads" of cattle. His best "drover" had not returned and Drummond announced without irony that he'd been "cut up into pieces by the blacks and put in a pot for supper."
Sitting here in this elegant, comfortable house, Kitty thought it extraordinary that such things could take place outside the boundaries of a town which, compared to the rough streets of Leith, was positively genteel.
"You must find the conversation quite shocking," said Drummond, mirroring her thoughts.
"I have read a book by Darw—" Kitty stopped herself, not knowing if Drummond would approve ". . . an author who spent time on these shores and who made mention of it. Do the natives really spear people?"
"Sadly, yes." Drummond lowered his voice. "In my opinion, only due to severe provocation from their unwanted invaders. The Aboriginal tribes have been on their land for many thousands of years—they are perhaps the oldest indigenous population in the world. Their land and their way of life was taken by force from right under their noses. But—" Drummond checked himself. "Such a subject is perhaps for another time."
"Of course," said Kitty, warming to Drummond a little. Then she turned her attention back to Andrew. "Where do you live?"
"Up on the northwest coast in a settlement called Broome. I have recently taken over the running of Father's pearling business. It is an . . . interesting part of the country, with a long history. There is even a dinosaur footprint stamped into a rock, which can be seen at very low tide."
"Goodness! How I would love to see that. Is Broome far away? Perhaps I could take a trip there by train."
"Sadly not, Miss McBride." Andrew suppressed a smile. "By sea it would take you several days at least and by camel, many more than that."
"Of course," said Kitty, embarrassed by her geographical naïveté. "Even though I know the dimensions of the country in theory, it's difficult to believe that traveling across it could actually take so long. I hope I may have a chance to advance beyond the town here, even if just to touch a rock that has been there since the dawn of time. I hear there are interesting carvings and paintings adorning many of them."
"Indeed there are, although knowledge of the interior—especially the area surrounding Ayers Rock—is my brother's province. It is close, in Australian terms at least, to where he runs our cattle station."
"One day I would love to visit the rock. I have read about it," Kitty enthused.
"I gather that you are interested in ancient history and geology, Miss McBride?"
"I am most interested in how we—" Kitty checked herself for a second time. ". . . God came to put us here in the first place, Mr. Mercer."
"Please, call me Andrew. And yes, it is all indeed fascinating. And perhaps, during their time here," Andrew said, raising his voice and directing his question to Mrs. McCrombie, "Aunt Florence and Miss McBride would enjoy a cruise up the northwest coast? After the wet season has ended in March, of course."
"Florence dear, don't even consider it," Edith interjected suddenly. "The last time I made the journey to Broome, there was a cyclone and the ship ran aground just beyond Albany. My eldest son lives in a completely uncivilized town full of blacks, yellows, and the Lord only knows what other nationalities—thieves and vagabonds the lot! I have sworn that I shall never set foot in the place again."
"Now, now, my dear." Stefan Mercer laid a hand on his wife's forearm. "We must not be unchristian, especially at this time of year. Broome is certainly unusual, Miss McBride, a melting pot of all creeds and colors. I personally find it fascinating, and lived there for ten years when I was setting up my pearling business."
"It is a godforsaken morally corrupt town, dominated by the pursuit of wealth and full of greedy men wishing to pursue their lust for it!" Edith interrupted again.
"Yet is that not what Australia is all about, Mother?" Drummond drawled loudly. "And"—he indicated the enormous dining room and the contents of the table—"we too?"
"At least we behave in a civilized manner and have good Christian values," Edith countered. "Go there if you must, sister dear, but I shall not accompany you. Now, shall we ladies retire to the drawing room and leave the men to their smokes and talk of the unsavory side of life in Australia?"
"If you would forgive me," Kitty said a few seconds later as she stood with Edith and Florence in the entrance hall, "I am still not feeling quite myself, and I wish to be well for Christmas Eve tomorrow."
"Of course. Good night, Miss McBride," said Edith curtly, looking somewhat relieved.
"Sleep well, dear Kitty," called Mrs. McCrombie, following her sister across the hall to the drawing room.
Upstairs, Kitty walked out onto the terrace, looked up to the stars, and searched for the special Star of Bethlehem that she and her sisters had always watched for in the skies on Christmas Eve. She couldn't see it here in the night sky, perhaps because they were so far ahead of the British clock in Adelaide.
Walking back inside, she left the doors leading to the terrace ajar, as the bedroom still smelled of her earlier illness. Daringly, as the night was so very hot, Kitty ignored her nightgown and crept beneath the sheets in her chemise.
A glaring sun woke her the following morning. Sitting up and realizing that today was Christmas Eve, she was about to step out of bed when something enormous and brown dropped from the ceiling onto the bedsheet covering her thighs. The thing immediately started crawling at pace toward her stomach, and Kitty let out a piercing shriek as she realized it was a giant hairy spider. Rooted to the spot as it made its way toward her breasts, she screamed again, not caring who heard her.
"What the hell is it?!" said Drummond as he appeared in the room, looked at her, then immediately saw the problem. With a practiced swipe of his hand, the offending spider was lifted from her by one of its many legs, wriggling as Drummond walked outside with it onto the terrace. She watched as he tossed the creature over the balustrade, then returned inside, shutting the doors firmly behind him.
"That's what comes of leaving them open," he admonished her with a wag of his finger, which had so recently held a predator between it and his thumb.
"It was you who told me to open them!" Kitty retaliated, her voice coming out as a high-pitched squeak.
"I meant for a short while, not the entire night. Well, that's rich." He glared at her. "I'm roused from my slumber at the crack of dawn on Christmas Eve to aid a lady in distress, and rather than a thank-you, I get an earful for my troubles."
"Was it . . . poisonous?"
"The huntsman spider? No. They occasionally give you the odd nip, but mostly they're as friendly as you like. Just great, ugly things who do a good job of keeping the insect population under control. Those are nothing compared to what you come across in the Northern Territory, where I live. The outside 'dunny'—a privy, as you would know it—teems with them, and some of them are dangerous. I've had to suck the poison out of a couple of my drovers before now. Nasty creatures, those redbacks."
Kitty, her heart still pounding, but her senses returning to her at last, decided that Drummond took great pleasure in shocking her.
"It's a different life out there," he said, as if he were reading her thoughts. "A matter of survival. It toughens you up."
"I'm sure it does."
"Well, I'll leave you to get some further rest, given it's only five thirty in the morning." He nodded to her and walked toward the door. "And by the way, Miss McBride, may I ask if you always sleep in your chemise? Mother would be horrified." With a grin, Drummond left the bedroom.
Three hours later, over a breakfast of freshly baked bread and delicious strawberry jam, Mrs. McCrombie produced a large package and passed it to Kitty.
"For you, my dear," she said with a smile. "Your mother asked me to keep this until Christmas. I know how homesick you have been, and I hope this may ease your longing for Scotland."
"Oh . . ." Kitty held the heavy package in her hands. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back.
"Go on, open it, child! I have been traveling with it for weeks now, wondering what is in it!"
"Shouldn't I wait until tomorrow?" Kitty asked.
"The German tradition is to open our gifts on Christmas Eve," replied Edith. "Even though we save ours for eventide. Please, my dear, go ahead."
Kitty tore open the brown paper and pulled out various items, delight bubbling inside her. There was a tin of her mother's famous homemade shortbread, ribbons from her sisters along with drawings and cards. Her father had sent a leather-bound prayer book, which Kitty returned to the box without even reading the inscription inside.
She spent the rest of the morning offering her domestic services, showing the black kitchen maid how to roll pastry, then dole out the mincemeat that Mrs. McCrombie had brought with her into the small pastry shells. Goose was on the menu tonight apparently, and a turkey sat in the cool room for tomorrow's Christmas Day feast. In the burning heat of the afternoon, Kitty sent up messages of love to her family waking on the eve of Christmas, and thought of her sisters, who would be so excited for the events of the next two days. As her body was still exhausted from its alcoholic battering yesterday, she took an afternoon nap and woke to a knocking on the door.
"Come," she said drowsily, and watched as Agnes entered the room, bringing folds of turquoise silk hung carefully over her arms.
" 'Tis from Mrs. McCrombie, miss. 'Tis a Christmas present and she said you're to wear it tonight for dinner."
Kitty watched Agnes hang the garment on the outside of her wardrobe. It was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen, but she worried that she would not be able to raise her arms in it for fear of patches of perspiration appearing beneath her armpits.
The family gathered in the drawing room at five, where Kitty was introduced to the famous Mercer matriarch, Grandmother Alicia herself. Alicia was not at all what Kitty had been expecting—rather than having the perpetual look of disapproval that defined Edith, Alicia's plump face was wrinkled into congenial folds, within which her blue eyes twinkled with mirth. It was sad, Kitty thought, that she was unable to conduct much of a conversation with her as Alicia spoke mainly German, despite having lived in Adelaide for many years. Andrew translated Alicia's apologies for her limited English, but the warm touch of her hands was enough to tell Kitty that she was welcome in what was originally Alicia's own home.
She marveled at how the twins switched so confidently between languages, as they conversed with the assembled company in both German and English. She was also touched that everyone had sweetly included her in the present giving. There was an ivory comb from Edith and Stefan, tiny seed-pearl earrings from Andrew, and from Drummond a handwritten note tied up in a package.
Dear Miss McBride,
This note is to tell you that your real Christmas present is stowed at the bottom of the wardrobe in your bedroom. I promise it is not a live spider.
Drummond
She watched his amused expression as she read it, then pulled out a sky-blue ribbon and smiled. "Thank you, Drummond. The color is quite beautiful, and I will use it to trim my hair for dinner later."
"It's to match your eyes," he whispered as any attention on their conversation was diverted by the presentation of Edith's Christmas gift from her husband.
"My dear, merry Christmas." Stefan kissed his wife on both cheeks. "I hope it is something you will like."
Inside the box was a truly glorious pearl, strung on a delicate silver chain. Its smooth opalescent surface gleamed richly in the last rays of the fast-sinking sun.
"Goodness," said Edith, as she let her sister fasten it around her neck. "More pearls."
"But this one is special, my dear. The best of this year's haul. Is it not, Andrew?"
"Yes, Father. T. B. Ellies himself declared it so, Mother. None larger has been found in the seas off Broome this year."
Kitty's eyes were transfixed by the gleaming, dancing bead sitting above Edith's considerable bosom. She marveled both at the size of such a precious jewel, and the indifference with which Edith had seemed to greet it.
"You like pearls?" Andrew, who was sitting next to her on a velvet-covered chaise longue, asked her.
"I love them," she replied. "I was forever opening clams on the beach back in Leith to find one, but, of course, I never did."
"No, and I doubt you ever would have done. They need a particular climate and breed of oyster, not to mention many, many years to come to fruition."
After the present opening, everyone retired to their rooms to change before dinner, and Kitty took the opportunity to see what exactly it was that Drummond had decided to give her for Christmas. Knowing him, a bottle of whiskey or a dead huntsman spider in a frame . . . The package was so tiny that it took her some time to root about in the bottom of her wardrobe to find it. It was an unremarkable box, tied with a simple ribbon. She opened it eagerly, and found a small gray stone nestled inside.
She picked it up and felt its coolness on her hot palm, feeling perplexed at why he had given this to her. Just like any pebble she could find on a beach in Leith, it was a plain slate gray, and even when she held it to the light she could not see any interesting striations in it.
But when she turned it over, she saw it was carved on the other side. Fascinated, she ran her fingers over the ridges and valleys, the edges of which had been rounded with age and much handling, but she was unable to make out a shape or a word.
Stowing it in the cabinet next to her bed, and feeling mean-hearted for her earlier harsh thoughts on Drummond's gift, she called Agnes in to help her into her new dress and fasten the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons that ran from the bottom of her back up to her neck. She already felt far too hot, and trussed up like the proverbial Christmas turkey, but her reflection in the mirror made up for it. The color of the silk complemented her eyes perfectly, making them shine turquoise. As Agnes fastened Drummond's ribbon into her curls, Kitty dabbed some rouge onto her cheeks, then stood up and went downstairs to join the party.
"Well, well, you look quite lovely tonight, Miss McBride," said Mrs. McCrombie with the proud air of a mother hen. "I knew that color would suit you the minute I saw it."
"Thank you very much, Mrs. McCrombie. It's the best Christmas present I've ever had," Kitty replied fervently as the doorbell rang to announce more Christmas Eve guests and they walked through to the drawing room to join those who had recently arrived.
"The best present, eh?" said a low voice from behind her. "Charmed, I'm sure."
It was Drummond, looking smart in full evening dress.
"I was simply being polite. Thank you for the ribbon . . . and the stone, but I have to confess, I have no idea what it is."
"That, my dear Miss McBride, is a very rare and precious thing. It's called a tjurunga stone, and it once belonged to a native of the Arrernte Aboriginal tribe. It would have been his most precious possession, presented to him at his initiation into manhood as a symbol of his special responsibilities."
"Goodness," breathed Kitty. Then her eyes narrowed. "You didn't steal it, did you?"
"What on earth do you take me for? As a matter of fact, I found it a few weeks ago when I was crossing the outback on my way here from the cattle station. I slept in a cave and there it was."
"I hope the person to whom it belongs hasn't missed it."
"I'm sure he is long dead, and won't complain. Now, Miss McBride"—Drummond reached out to a passing drinks tray and took two glasses from it—"may I offer you a little sherry?"
Kitty saw the twinkle in his eye and refused. "No, thank you."
"I must admit, you've scrubbed up rather well tonight," he said as he gulped down the dainty amount of sherry in one, then proceeded to drain the one she had refused too. "Merry Christmas, Kitty," he said softly. "So far, it's been an utter . . . adventure, to make your acquaintance."
"Miss McBride . . ."
Kitty turned and found Andrew at her side. And thought that it really was most disconcerting having a pair of identical twins in the same room; one felt as though one was seeing double.
"Good evening, Andrew, and thank you for my beautiful earrings. I'm wearing them tonight."
"I'm happy to see they go well with your lovely dress. May I offer you a small sherry to toast the Yuletide?"
"Miss McBride is teetotal. Never touches a drop, do you?" Drummond murmured next to her.
As he ambled off across the room, Kitty wondered how long it would be before she was moved to slap him just to remove the smug smile from his face. The guests soon assembled in the dining room, where a sumptuous feast awaited them: roast goose, traditional roast potatoes, and even a haggis that Mrs. McCrombie had stored in the ship's cold room on the voyage over. From their fine clothes and the women's jewels, Kitty knew she was sharing a Christmas feast with the crème de la crème of Adelaide society. A pleasant German gentleman who spoke perfect English sat to her right, and told her of his brewing business and his vineyards, which apparently flourished in the Adelaide Hills.
"The climate is similar to that of southern France, and the grapes grow well. Mark my words, in a few years' time, the world will be buying Australian wine. This"—he reached for a bottle and showed it to her—"is one of ours. Can I entice you to try a drop?"
"No thank you, sir," she said in a hushed voice, not able to stand another knowing look from Drummond, sitting across the table from her.
Once the dinner was over, a crowd gathered around the piano and sang "Stille Nacht" in German, followed by traditional British Christmas carols. When the repertoire was exhausted, Edith, who had already displayed a surprising talent on the piano, turned to her eldest son.
"Andrew, will you sing for us?"
The assembled company clapped him politely to the piano.
"Forgive me, ladies and gentlemen, for I am rusty. As you can imagine, I do not get much of an opportunity to perform in Broome," said Andrew. "I shall sing 'Ev'ry Valley' from Handel's Messiah."
"And I shall do my best to accompany him," said Edith.
"My goodness, what a voice," whispered her wine-making neighbor after Andrew had finished and the drawing room rang with applause. "Perhaps he could have been a professional opera singer, but life—and his father—had other plans. That's Australia for you," he added under his breath. "High on sheep, cattle, and ill-begotten riches, but low on culture. Our country will change one day, you mark my words."
By then, it was almost eleven in the evening, and the guests were escorted into carriages by their grooms to trot off into the center of Adelaide for Midnight Mass.
St. Peter's Cathedral was an imposing sight, with its intricate Gothic spirals reaching up into the sky, and warm candlelight spilling out through its stained-glass windows. Drummond escorted his mother and aunt into the cathedral, while Andrew helped Kitty down from her carriage.
"You have a beautiful voice," she said to him.
"Thank you. Everyone tells me that, but perhaps you never value what comes easily to you. And also, apart from entertaining Mama and Papa's guests on high days and holidays, it serves no purpose," Andrew commented as they followed the crowd up the steps to the cathedral.
The inside of the church was just as impressive, with tall, vaulted arches framing the pews. The service, which was what Kitty's father would have called "high church," was full of wafted incense and clergy with the kind of gold-threaded robes which Ralph would have derided. Kitty went up for Holy Communion, kneeling at the altar between Drummond and Andrew. At least, she thought, her toes weren't curling from the biting cold, as they usually did in Father's church in Leith on Christmas Eve.
"Did you enjoy that? I know it's not what you're used to," asked Andrew as they filed out.
"I am of the belief that the Lord almost certainly doesn't mind where you worship, or how, as long as you are glorifying His name," Kitty answered tactfully.
"If there is a God at all. Which, personally, I doubt," came Drummond's voice out of the darkness behind her.
As she retired to her room later, having checked the terrace doors were tightly shut and then scrutinizing the ceiling and the corners for any sign of eight-legged hairy monsters that might decide to join her in bed, Kitty decided that it had been a very interesting day.
## 10
Between Christmas and Hogmanay—or, as people called it here, New Year's Eve—there were outings to keep the residents of Alicia Hall entertained. They took a picnic to Elder Park and listened to an orchestra playing on the bandstand, then the following day found them at Adelaide Zoo. While Kitty delighted at the various furry inmates, such as the wide-eyed possums and the adorable koalas, Drummond found more pleasure in pulling her toward the reptile house and showing her an array of snakes. He was at pains to point out which ones were benign and those that could kill.
"The pythons are mainly harmless, although they do give you a hell of a nip if you tread on them by accident. It's those Australian browns which are difficult to see on the earth that are the most venomous. And"—he pointed at the glass—"that stripy one coiled around the twig in the corner. That's a tiger snake and equally nasty if you get bitten. Snakes will only bother you if you bother them, mind you," he added.
Drummond suggested Kitty take a ride on an elephant, the crowning glory of Adelaide Zoo. Kitty was hoisted up inelegantly onto the aging gray back of her steed. She sat atop, feeling just like the Indian maharani she had seen pictures of in a book.
"You should wait until you try a camel—now, that is a bumpy ride," Drummond shouted up at her.
That night, she arrived home and immediately wrote to her family to tell them that she'd ridden on an elephant—in the most unlikely of places.
Hogmanay arrived and Kitty was told that a big evening party was always hosted by Edith.
"She puts us through this every year," Drummond groaned at breakfast that morning. "She insists we wear our tartan."
"That's normal in Edinburgh all year round," Kitty retorted.
"And that is the point, Miss McBride. I am a born and bred Australian who has never set foot in Scotland, and actually, more to the point, never intends to. If the boys back at Kilgarra station ever knew that I hopped around in a skirt for the night looking like a girl, I'd never hear the last of it."
"Surely it's not much to ask to please Mother?" Andrew put into the conversation. "Remember, she was born there and misses the old country. And I'm sure Miss McBride will enjoy it too."
"I didn't think to bring my clan tartan . . ." Kitty bit her lip.
"I'm sure Mother can lend you one of hers. She has a wardrobe positively bursting with plaid. Excuse me." Drummond stood up. "I have some things to do in town before I leave for Europe."
"Your brother's going to Europe?" Kitty asked Andrew after Drummond had left the room.
"Yes. Tomorrow, with Father," he replied. "Drummond wants to purchase some heads of cattle—his stock dwindled this year due to a drought and the blacks' spears, and Father has some magnificent pearls to sell from his haul this year and trusts no one to do it for him. Besides, it's the wet season up in the north, and not a comfortable place to be. Our luggers in Broome are mostly in harbor due to the cyclone season. I will return soon to man the ship, so to speak. I've spent the past three years up there learning the ropes from Father and will take over managing it for him from now on, before Mother divorces him for desertion." Andrew gave Kitty a rueful smile.
"I remember her saying that she did not enjoy her time in Broome."
"When my mother lived there ten years ago, it was hard for a woman, but as the pearling industry grows, so does the town. And with such a mixed society, it is certainly never dull. An acquired taste, but speaking for myself, I find it exciting. I think you would too, because you have an adventurous spirit."
"Do I?"
"In my opinion, yes. And you seem to take people at face value."
"My father—and the Bible," she added hastily, "say never to judge by creed or color, but only by a person's soul."
"Yes, Miss McBride. It's rather interesting, isn't it, that those who would consider themselves true Christians can behave like the opposite? Ah well . . . ," he said, then lapsed into an embarrassed silence.
"Now"—Kitty rose to her feet—"I must seek out your mother and offer my help with the preparations for tonight's party."
"That is kind of you, but I doubt she will need it. Like everything she manages, it will be run like a well-oiled machine."
As Kitty put on her turquoise dress that evening, which Agnes had skillfully steamed to remove any sweat patches, there was a rap on her door. Mrs. McCrombie came in bearing a length of plaid.
"Good evening, my dear Miss McBride. Here is your sash for this evening's festivities. Courtesy of myself, and my poor departed husband. I shall be proud to see you wearing the McCrombie tartan. In these past few weeks, you have become nothing less than a daughter to me."
"I . . . thank you, Mrs. McCrombie." Kitty was deeply touched by her words. "You have been so very kind to me."
"May I have the honor of fastening it on for you?"
"Of course. Thank you."
"You know," said Mrs. McCrombie as she draped the tartan across Kitty's right shoulder, "it has been a pleasure to watch you blossom in the weeks since we left Edinburgh. You were rather a mouse when I first met you. But now look at you!" Mrs. McCrombie fastened a delicate thistle brooch at Kitty's shoulder. "Why, you are a beauty and a credit to your family. You will make any man a wife to be proud of."
"Will I . . . ?" Kitty replied as she allowed herself to be propelled toward the mirror.
"Look at yourself, Miss Katherine McBride, with your proud Scottish heritage, your clever brain, and your pretty physique. Oh, it has amused me so watching my two nephews vie for your attentions in their different ways." Mrs. McCrombie giggled girlishly and Kitty knew she'd already been at the whiskey.
"So," she continued, "I have asked myself, which one will she choose? They are both so different. My dear, have you decided which twin it will be?"
Given that Kitty had never even presumed to think that either of the wealthy twins considered her anything other than sport (Drummond) or a younger sister (Andrew), Kitty answered honestly.
"Really, Mrs. McCrombie, I am sure that you are wrong. The Mercers are quite clearly one of the most powerful families in Adelaide . . ."
"If not Australia," Mrs. McCrombie added.
"Yes, and I, as the poor daughter of a minister from Leith, could never consider myself good enough for either of them. Or their family—"
The sound of the doorbell clanging came to her rescue.
"Well now, my dear." Mrs. McCrombie took her in a warm, bosomy embrace. "Let us just see what happens, shall we? And in case I don't get the chance to wish you a happy 1907 later tonight, I shall do so now. I just know it will be a happy one."
Kitty watched as Mrs. McCrombie swept from the room, a veritable ship in full sail. Once the door was closed, she collapsed onto her bed in relief and confusion.
If there was one thing Kitty knew she was good at, it was dancing reels. She and her siblings had been taught by their mother, partly because Adele loved to dance, but mainly because there wasn't much else with which to while away a long winter's evening in Leith. And it had the benefit of keeping them all warm.
And goodness, thought Kitty, as she danced "The Duke of Perth," it was certainly doing that tonight. She envied the men, who at least had the luxury of bare legs in their kilts, while she in her corseted silk dress and heavy tartan sash sweated away like the proverbial pig. Yet tonight, she didn't care, dancing reel after reel with numerous partners until finally, shortly before midnight, she sat down to rest and Andrew brought her a large glass of fruit punch to quench her thirst.
"My, my, Miss McBride, we have seen yet another facet of your personality tonight. You are a most accomplished dancer."
"Thank you," she said, still panting and praying Andrew did not step too close to her, because she was sure she smelled awful.
Minutes later, he led her into the entrance hall with the rest of the guests, so that the old Scottish tradition of welcoming the first person across the threshold at the stroke of midnight could be observed. Gathering around the Christmas tree, which looked forlorn with its shed pine needles pooling into green puddles on the floor, Kitty stood next to Andrew.
"Ten seconds to go!" roared Stefan from the crowd, and they began to count down the numbers until the crowd cheered and wished one another affectionate New Year's greetings.
Kitty suddenly found herself in Andrew's embrace.
"Happy New Year, Miss McBride. I wanted to ask . . ."
Kitty saw the anxiety on his face. "Yes?"
"Would it be all right if I called you Kitty from now on?"
"Why yes, of course."
"Well, I do hope that in 1907 we can continue our . . . friendship. I . . . that is, Kitty . . ."
"Happy New Year, my boy!" Stefan interrupted their conversation as he slapped his son on the back. "I have no doubt at all that you will do me proud in Broome."
"I will do my best to, sir," Andrew replied.
"And happy New Year to you too, Miss McBride. You have been a delightful adornment to our family Christmas." He leaned forward and kissed Kitty warmly, his handlebar mustache tickling her cheek. "And I'm sure we both hope that you may decide to extend your time with us in Australia, eh, boy?" Stefan gave his son an obvious wink before moving on to offer his other guests New Year felicitations.
Andrew swiftly excused himself to go in search of his mother and Kitty wandered onto the veranda in search of some cool air.
Instantly, she was swept up from behind by a strong pair of arms and twirled around in circles, then finally lowered back to the ground.
"Happy New Year, Miss McBride, Kitty . . . Kat . . . yes, that nickname suits you perfectly, for you are feline, light on your feet, and far cleverer, I suspect, than most people give you credit for. In short, you are a survivor."
"Am I?" Kitty's head was spinning and she steadied herself. She looked up at Drummond. "Are you drunk?"
"Hah! That's rich coming from you, Miss Kitty-Kat. Perhaps a little, but people tell me I'm an affectionate drunk. Now, I have something to say to you."
"And what might that be?"
"You must know as well as I do that plans are afoot to make sure you join our family on a more permanent basis."
"I . . ."
"Don't pretend you have no idea what I mean. It is quite obvious to everybody that Andrew is in love with you. I have even heard my parents discussing it. Father is all for it; Mother—for whatever churlish female reason—less so. But given that my father's word goes in this house, I'm sure it won't be too long before a proposal is forthcoming."
"I can assure you that no such thought has crossed my mind."
"Then you are either full of false modesty, or more stupid than I took you for. Naturally, as the eldest, he gets the first shot at you, but before you decide, I wanted to throw my hat into the ring and tell you that, for a woman, you have a number of qualities which I admire. And . . ."
For the first time since Kitty had known him, she saw uncertainty in Drummond's eyes.
"The thing is this." Then he took her in his arms and kissed her hard upon the lips. Whether from shock or sheer pleasure, Kitty did not immediately pull away, and her entire body proceeded to melt like a knob of butter left out in the Australian sun.
"There now," he said as he finally let her go. Then he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Remember this: My brother can offer you security, but with me, you'll have adventure. Just swear to me that you won't make a decision until I'm back from Europe. Now, I'm off to the Edinburgh Castle to celebrate until dawn with my friends. Good night, Miss McBride."
With a wave, Drummond left her on the veranda and headed to the back of the house. As she heard the pony and cart trotting out of the gate, Kitty moved her fingers tentatively to her lips. And relived every second of the pleasure she had felt at his touch.
Kitty did not see Drummond the next morning—he'd gone early to the steamer to supervise the loading of the trunks. Kitty handed over the letters that Stefan Mercer had kindly said he would post to her family when he reached Europe.
"Or in fact," he said with a wink, "I may even go and deliver them personally. Good-bye, my dear." He kissed her on both cheeks. Then, with the household waving him off, he climbed into the carriage.
Kitty ate breakfast alone with Andrew, as Mrs. McCrombie was taking hers in her room and Edith had gone to the dock to wave her husband and son good-bye. Given the various conversations that had taken place yesterday, she felt uncomfortable sitting there with him. He seemed unusually subdued.
"Miss McBride . . . ," he said eventually.
"Please, Andrew, we agreed you must call me Kitty."
"Of course, of course. Kitty, do you ride?"
"I do indeed, or rather, I did. I learned as a child when we went down to stay with my grandparents in Dumfriesshire. Some of the ponies were rather wild, coming from the moors, and I spent quite a lot of my time being thrown off. Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking how there's nothing like a gallop to clear out the cobwebs. We keep a bungalow up in the Adelaide Hills with a small stable attached to it. How say you we go up there today? The air is clearer and cooler, and I think you would like it. Mama has given her full permission for me to chaperone you, by the way."
They arrived up at the Mercer family bungalow two hours later. Having expected little more than a cottage, Kitty was amazed to see the low-lying house was nothing less than a one-story mansion, set in lush gardens and surrounded by vineyards. She made a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, seeing the way the green hills dipped and rose around them. It reminded her a little of the Scottish Lowlands.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, meaning it.
"I'm glad you like it. Now, let me show you the stables."
Half an hour later, the two of them set out for a ride. As they trotted down the valley and onto a plain, Kitty chanced a canter. Taking the lead from her, Andrew kept pace, and Kitty laughed out loud in delight at the fresh air on her skin and the verdant green all about her.
When they returned to the bungalow, she saw a light lunch had been laid out on a table on the veranda.
"This looks delicious," Kitty said, still panting from exertion as she flopped into a chair, and without further ado took a slice of bread, still warm from the oven.
"There's fresh lemon cordial for you too," Andrew offered.
"Who made all this?"
"The housekeeper here. She lives in all year round."
"Even though you told me on the way here you rarely visit?"
"Yes. Father is very rich, and I intend to be too."
"I am sure you will be," Kitty said after a pause.
"Of course," Andrew continued hastily, realizing he had made an error, "it is not my main goal, but especially here in Australia, money can help."
"It can help anywhere, but I truly believe it cannot buy happiness."
"I couldn't agree more, Kitty. Family and . . . love, is all."
They ate the rest of their lunch in virtual silence, Kitty simply concentrating on enjoying her surroundings. And trying not to think of the probable reason for this outing.
"Kitty . . ." Andrew eventually broke the silence. "Perhaps you know why I've brought you up here?"
"To show me the view?" she answered, sounding disingenuous even to her own ears.
"That, and . . . it cannot come as a complete surprise to you to know how . . . fond I've become of you in the last ten days."
"Oh, I am sure you would tire of me if you knew me for longer, Andrew."
"I doubt it, Kitty. As usual, you are just being modest. I have spoken to my aunt at length, a woman who has known of you for most of your life, and she could not find a bad word to say about you. In her eyes, as well as mine, you seem to be perfect. And, having already told my father and mother of my intentions, and them both agreeing . . ."
At this, Andrew stood up abruptly and came to kneel in front of her. "Katherine McBride, I would like to ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife."
"Goodness!" Kitty said after a suitable pause, which she hoped denoted ignorance of such a proposal. "I am shocked. I never thought . . ."
"That is because you are who you are, Kitty. A girl . . . woman, in fact, who does not recognize her own beauty, either inside or out. You are beautiful, Kitty, and I knew the first moment I saw you that I wished for you to be my wife."
"Did you?"
"Yes. I would not say that I am of a romantic nature, but . . ." Andrew blushed. "It was truly a case of love at first sight. And then"—he chuckled to himself—"I knew that it had to be right when you showed such enthusiasm for the dinosaur footprint in Broome. Most girls wouldn't even know what a dinosaur was, let alone be interested in its fossilized footprint. So, what do you say?"
Kitty looked down at Andrew, at his undoubtedly handsome face, then raised her head and surveyed the beautiful estate that this man would presumably inherit. Her thoughts traveled back to Leith and her father, who had professed to adore her, but then, because of what she knew, had banished her to the other side of the world.
"I . . ."
Her demon mind issued a vivid picture of Drummond, and subsequently began to play a selection of memories across a frame in her head. The way he teased her, treated her less like a china doll than an equal, how he made her laugh despite herself . . . and, most of all, how she'd felt when he'd kissed her only a few hours ago.
The question was, did he bring out the best or the worst in her? Whichever it was, she was certainly a different person when she was with him.
"Please, I understand that this is a shock, coming so soon after we've met," Andrew persisted into her silence. "But I must return to Broome in February or March, and as Mama pointed out, that leaves little time to prepare for any wedding. That is, not that I want to rush you into a decision, but . . ."
Andrew's voice trailed off and she thought what a sweet soul he was.
"May I take a little time to think about it? I had planned to go home to Scotland and my family. And this would mean . . . well, staying here. For the rest of my life. With you."
"Dearest Kitty, I understand completely. You must take all the time you need. Aunt Florence has told me what a close family you come from and I know the sacrifice you would be making if you were to marry me. And of course, at least for the next few years, you would be living in Broome."
"A place that your mother loathes."
"And one that I believe you would grow to love. It has changed much since she last deigned to visit. Broome is thriving, Kitty; the ships that arrive daily from all over the world bring luxuries and precious things that you would not believe. But yes," Andrew agreed, "it is still an unformed society, where many rules of normal social behavior don't exist. Yet I feel that you would embrace it as strongly as my mother derided it, simply because of your egalitarian and generous nature. Now, I must stand up before my kneecap breaks in two." Andrew stood, then grasped Kitty's hands in his. "How much time do you need?"
"A few days?"
"Of course. From now on," he said, kissing one of her hands softly, "I shall leave you be."
During the ensuing three days, Kitty discussed the situation with herself, a magnificent parakeet in the garden, and, of course, God. None of whom were able to give her any further insight on the subject. She longed for her mother's wisdom, which would be given purely out of love and her daughter's best interests.
Although would it? Kitty pondered, as she paced up and down her bedroom, realizing there was every chance that Adele would urge her daughter to jump at the opportunity to marry such a handsome man from a fine, wealthy family, given the frugal life they lived in Leith.
The bald truth was that even though Kitty had known marriage was the next stage of her life once she turned eighteen, it had always seemed far away in the future. Yet now, here it was. The question she asked herself over and over was whether one must love one's future husband from the first moment one set eyes on him. Or whether initially, the excitement of an engagement came from a far more pragmatic angle: that of knowing one had been plucked from the tree of single young ladies—especially being as poor as she was—and that one was secure for the rest of one's life. Maybe love would grow through the sharing of an existence together, which would one day include a family.
Kitty was also sure that if the Mercers had seen the straitened circumstances in which her own family lived and realized she was less than a "catch," they may have viewed the union very differently. Yet this was not Edinburgh but Australia, where she and everyone else who reached its dusty red soil could reinvent themselves and be anyone they chose.
What was in Scotland in the future for her anyway? If she was lucky, marriage to Angus and a life as a clergyman's wife that would be little different from her first eighteen years, except perhaps harder.
Despite Drummond's words about having "adventure" with him, Kitty realized that marrying either twin and following them up to the north of this vast landmass would provide that.
Yet . . . the way that her body had dissolved when Drummond kissed her. When Andrew had taken her hand and kissed it, it hadn't been unpleasant, but . . .
Finally, completely exhausted from equivocating with herself, Kitty decided to go to Mrs. McCrombie. Biased though she may have been, she was the nearest thing Kitty had to family here.
She chose a moment when Edith had gone out to pay some house calls. They took tea together and Mrs. McCrombie listened while Kitty poured out her mind's machinations.
"Well, well." Mrs. McCrombie raised an eyebrow, to Kitty's surprise showing neither pleasure nor distaste. "You already know that I expected this to happen, but, my dear, I do feel for you. Neither of us can be as naive as to believe that your decision won't have an irrevocable effect on the rest of your life."
"Yes."
"How much have you missed Edinburgh since you've been here?"
"I've missed my family."
"But not the place itself?"
"When the sun burns down, I long for the chill, but I like what I have seen of Australia so far. It's a land of possibility where anything might happen."
"For better or worse," Mrs. McCrombie interjected. "Young lady, from my perspective, I will repeat what I said on New Year's Eve. I can only say that you have blossomed since you have been here. I do believe Australia suits you and you suit it."
"I have definitely felt more free here, yes," Kitty ventured.
"However, if you marry Andrew, you must resign yourself to not seeing your family again for perhaps many years. Although, my dear, no doubt you will start a family of your own. It is a natural progression, whether it be in Edinburgh or Australia. One way or another, once a woman marries, her life changes. And Andrew himself? Do you like him?"
"Very much indeed. He is thoughtful, kind, and clever. And from what he has told me, hardworking too."
"He is that indeed," Mrs. McCrombie acknowledged. "However it may look to an outsider, being the son of an extraordinarily rich father has its drawbacks. He must prove to both Stefan and himself that he can be just as successful. Unlike Drummond, who by accident of birth does not carry that same sense of responsibility. The heir and the spare to the Mercer throne," Mrs. McCrombie chuckled. "May I ask you, Kitty, did Drummond . . . speak to you before he left for Europe?"
"Yes." Kitty decided it was no time to spare her blushes. "He asked me to wait for him."
"I thought as much. He could hardly take his eyes off you from the first moment he met you. All that silly teasing . . . a juvenile way of seeking your attention. And what did you say to him?"
"I said . . . nothing. He left then and I didn't see him again before he got on the boat to Europe."
"How very dramatic. Well, I don't wish to patronize you by pointing out the advantages of each of my nephews, but, Kitty my dear, what I can tell you is that when a young lady decides to commit herself to marriage, what she needs from her intended is very different from what she may dream of as a young girl. By that I mean security, safety—especially in a country such as this; a steady, reliable type, whom one can depend upon for protection. Someone you respect, and yes, before you ask, love does grow. And I have no doubt that Andrew loves you already."
"Thank you, Mrs. McCrombie, for your very wise counsel. I shall think on what you have said. And I must do so quickly, as I know we have so little time."
"It's my pleasure, Kitty. As I'm sure you are aware, I would like nothing better than to become officially related to you, but the decision is yours to make. Just remember, Andrew is not only offering you his love, but an entire new life, which you alone can make of what you will."
Later that day, when she saw Andrew arrive home on the pony and trap, she walked swiftly downstairs to meet him at the door and tell him of her decision before she changed her mind.
"Andrew, may I speak with you?"
He turned toward her, and she knew he was studying her face to see if he could discover the answer in her eyes.
"Of course. Let us go through to the drawing room."
Kitty noted the tension in his body as they entered the room and sat down.
"Andrew, forgive me for taking some time to think about your proposal. As you know, it is a momentous decision for me. However, I have decided, and I would be honored to become your wife, on the understanding that my father agrees to the match." Kitty fell silent, breathless from saying the words, and looked at Andrew. He did not look as happy as she had thought he might.
"Andrew, have you changed your mind?"
"I . . . no. That is . . . are you absolutely sure?"
"I am absolutely sure."
"And no one has pressured you into this?"
"No!" Now that she had given him the answer, he seemed to be grilling her on the reasons for her assent to his request.
"I . . . well, I believed that you were steeling yourself to refuse me. That perhaps there was someone else. I . . ."
"I swear, there is no one."
"Right, well, so . . ."
Kitty watched as the clouds visibly lifted from Andrew's eyes.
"Good grief! That makes me the happiest man in the world! I must write immediately to your father to request his permission, but . . . would you take exception to me doing so by telegram? As you know, letters take so long to arrive and time is of the essence. And of course, I shall send one to Father too, asking him to make haste to your parents' front door while he is Europe." The words were tumbling out of Andrew as he paced exultantly up and down the drawing room. "I hope that your father will be prepared to entrust his beloved daughter to me. He knows of our family through my aunt, of course." Andrew paused in his pacing to take her hands in his. "I swear to you now, Katherine McBride, that I will love you and give you the best of everything for the rest of your life."
Kitty nodded and closed her eyes as he kissed her lightly on the lips.
Two days later, Andrew showed Kitty the telegram that had just arrived.
ANDREW STOP DELIGHTED TO GIVE MY BLESSING ON YOUR MARRIAGE TO MY DAUGHTER STOP MUCH LOVE TO YOU AND KATHERINE STOP MOTHER AND FAMILY SEND CONGRATULATIONS TO BOTH OF YOU STOP RALPH STOP
"The final hurdle!" Andrew exclaimed jubilantly. "Now we can announce it to the world and set about preparations for the wedding. It may not be as grand an affair as you might wish for, given the time constraints, but Mother knows everyone there is to know in Adelaide and she can pull strings to make sure you have a beautiful gown at least."
"Really, Andrew, such things are not important to me."
"That might be so, but this wedding is important to Mother. So, we shall tell her and Aunt Florence this very evening."
Kitty nodded, then turned away from him and walked upstairs, knowing her eyes were brimming with tears. When she arrived in her room, she threw herself on the bed and sobbed, because everything she had believed about her father's wishing to get rid of her for good had just been proved right.
On the morning of her wedding to Andrew a month later, Kitty stood in front of the long mirror in her wedding dress. Edith had indeed pulled strings, and she was wearing a white gown fit for a princess. Her waist had been cinched into a whisper of itself, and the high neck set off her auburn hair, which Agnes had piled fetchingly on top of her head. The rich Alençon lace was bedecked in hundreds of small pearls that gleamed and sparkled with the slightest move.
"Ye look beautiful, Miss Kitty. I'm wanting to cry . . . ," said Agnes as she straightened the tulle veil over Kitty's shoulders.
"Good morning, Kitty."
Kitty saw the reflection of Edith walking into the room behind her.
"Good morning."
"Doesn't she look a picture, m'um?" said Agnes, wiping her nose.
"She does indeed," Edith replied stiffly, as if it hurt her to say the words. "May I have a word with Katherine alone?"
"O' course, m'um."
Agnes scuttled out of the room.
"I came to wish you good luck, Katherine," said Edith, walking around her daughter-in-law-to-be, checking the dress was perfect.
"Thank you."
"I once knew your father when I was much younger. I met him at a ball in the Highlands. I believed that he was as smitten with me as I was with him. But then, your father always was a charmer, as I'm sure you're aware."
Kitty's heart began to beat faster. She did not reply, knowing Edith had more to say.
"Of course, I was wrong. It transpired that he was not only a charmer, but a chancer. A cad who enjoyed seducing women, and once he had done with them, he would move on to the next. To put it bluntly, I was left high and dry by him. I will not go into detail, but along with breaking my heart, he almost ruined my reputation. I . . . well, suffice to say that if it hadn't been for Stefan arriving from Australia and us meeting by chance in London—and him having no knowledge of any . . . 'notoriety' I had acquired—my future prospects would have been ruined."
Deep breaths, Kitty ordered herself as she felt the heat of both embarrassment and shock prickling on the skin beneath her dress.
"I can assure you, what I am telling you is true. I hope you can understand why I was less than pleased when my sister wrote to me telling me you were accompanying her and that I had to welcome you into my home. For of course, the truth of the matter was brushed under the carpet and my sister had no idea of what her sainted Ralph had done to me. And now . . ." Edith came to stand in front of her. "You—his daughter—are to marry my eldest son, and we are to be related. The irony is not lost on me, as I'm sure it isn't on your father."
Kitty looked down at the yards of white lace pooling about her elegantly slippered feet. "Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.
"Because you are joining our family and I want no further secrets between us. And also to warn you that if you ever hurt my son the way your father hurt me, I will hunt you down and destroy you. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"Well, that is all I have to say. I can only hope that you have your mother's nature. My sister tells me she is such a sweet woman and very stoic. In retrospect, I have realized I had a lucky escape, for I am sure that your mother has suffered during her marriage to that man, just as I did. Him! A minister?!" Edith chuckled hoarsely, but then, seeing Kitty's obvious distress, regained her composure. "Now then, Kitty, we will never mention the subject again." Edith moved closer and kissed her tentatively on both cheeks. "You look beautiful, my dear. Welcome to the Mercer family."
## CECE
Phra Nang Beach, Krabi, Thailand
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol for a honey ant site
## 11
Ace stretched his arms wide and yawned, dropping the book onto the sofa. I sat up, mulling over the story I had just heard.
"Wow," I murmured. "Kitty Mercer sounds amazing! Moving to the other side of the world, marrying a man she hardly knew, and inheriting what sounds like a mother-in-law from hell."
"I suppose that's what a lot of women did in those days, especially those who had a life they didn't want to go back to." Ace looked off into the distance. "Like Kitty's," he added eventually.
"Yeah, her father sounds like a real jerk. Do you think she made the right choice, marrying Andrew over Drummond?"
Ace studied Kitty's picture on the front cover. "Who knows? We make so many choices every single day . . ."
His face closed off then, so I didn't push him on what decisions he'd made that had led to his hiding out here in the palace. "The question is," I said, "what's she got to do with me? I don't think we're related—we look nothing alike." To illustrate the point, I held up the book to my head and tried to put on the same stern expression as her. Ace gave a chuckle, then brushed a finger over my cheek.
"You don't have to look alike to be related. Take me—my father is European, and I'd bet you're mixed race too. Haven't you ever wondered?"
"Course I have. To be honest, I always just accepted it—people would try to guess where I was from if I told them I was adopted. They'd say all sorts—South Asian, South American, African . . . It's like everyone wants to put you in a box and stick a label on you, but I just wanted to be me."
Ace nodded. "Yeah, I get that too. Here in Thailand they call us luk kreung—literally 'half child.' But even though I know where my blood comes from, it doesn't mean I understand who I am or where I belong. I feel out of place wherever I am. I wonder if you'll feel like you belong in Australia."
"I . . . I don't know." I was beginning to feel flushed and hot, all the questions he was asking me making my head spin. I stood up. "I'm going for a last swim and sunset," I said as I walked across the terrace to the stairs. "I want to take some photos."
"What do you mean, a 'last' swim?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm going to get my bikini."
Arriving at the gate a few minutes later with my camera, I found Ace already hovering beside it in his swimming trunks, shades, and baseball cap.
"I'll come with you," he said.
"Okay." I tried not to show my surprise when he pressed the red button, and I handed my camera to Po as Ace legged it at top speed toward the sea with me trailing behind him. We swam out a long way, much farther than anyone else, and he held me in his arms and kissed me.
"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving before?"
"To be honest, I'd lost track of the days. It was only when I looked at the plane ticket in my rucksack this morning that I realized."
"It'll be strange without you, CeCe."
"I'm sure you'll manage. C'mon," I said as we waded out, "I need to get my camera and take some pics of the sunset before it's gone."
I collected my camera from Po and went back onto the beach to capture the sunset, as Ace lurked in the foliage watching me.
"You want photo? I take it," Po offered.
"Would you mind being in it?" I asked Ace. "With the sunset and stuff behind us? Just for the memory?"
"I . . ." There was a flicker of fear in his eyes before he reluctantly agreed.
I instructed Po on which button to press, and with our backs facing the beach, Ace put his arm around me and we posed in front of the setting sun on Phra Nang. Po snapped away eagerly until Ace put up a hand to stop him before pressing the code on the gate and disappearing through it. I followed in his wake, stopping to collect my camera.
"Madam, I take to shop and print for you? My cousin, he run good place in Krabi town. I go there now, pictures back tomorrow morning," Po offered.
"Okay, thanks," I agreed as I ejected the roll of film from the unit. "Make two sets of prints, yes?" I gesticulated with my fingers, thinking it would be a good memento to leave for Ace.
"No problem, madam." Po smiled at me. "My pleasure. Three hundred baht for two set?"
"Deal." I walked away wondering why he was being so helpful and thought that maybe his guilty conscience was still plaguing him. Perhaps, just occasionally, human beings wanted to make up for past misdemeanors.
That evening, I wondered if it was me who was not myself, but the conversation that usually flowed over dinner was now stilted and unnatural. Ace was weirdly quiet and didn't even laugh at my jokes, which he normally did no matter how bad they were. As soon as I put down my knife and fork, he yawned and said we should get an early night, and I agreed. In bed, he reached for me silently in the darkness and made love to me.
"Night, CeCe," he said as we settled down for him to sleep and for me to lie awake.
"Night."
I listened for the change in breathing pattern to let me know that he was asleep, but I didn't hear it. Eventually, I heard him sigh and a tentative hand reached out in the darkness to find me.
"You asleep?" he whispered.
"You know I rarely am."
"Come here, I need a hug."
He drew me to him and held me so tight that my nose was pressed against his chest and I could barely breathe.
"I really meant what I said earlier. I'll miss you," he murmured in the darkness. "Maybe I will come out to Australia. I'll give you my mobile number. Promise to text me a forwarding address?"
"Yeah, of course."
"We are a pair, aren't we?"
"Are we?"
"Yes, both at a crossroads, not knowing where we go next."
"I s'pose."
"Well, it's true for you at least. Sadly, I know exactly where I'll be going. Eventually . . ."
"Where?"
"It doesn't matter, but I just want to tell you that if things were different . . ." I felt his lips gently caress the top of my head. "You're the most real person I've ever met, Celaeno D'Aplièse. Never change, will you?"
"I don't think I can."
"No," he chuckled. "Probably not. I just want you to promise me one more thing."
"What's that?"
"If you . . . hear things about me in the future, please try not to judge me. You know that things are never quite what they seem. And . . ." I knew he was struggling to find the words. "Sometimes, you have to do stuff to protect those you love."
"Yeah, like I did for Star."
"Yes, sweetheart, like you did for Star."
With that, he kissed me again and rolled over.
Of course, I didn't sleep a wink that night. All sorts of emotions—some of them new—were racing around my head. I only wished I could confide in someone, ask their opinion about what Ace had said to me. But the fact was, Ace had become my "someone" . . . my friend. I turned the word over in my mind. I'd never had a proper friend before who wasn't my sister, and perhaps I didn't know how friendship even worked. Was I his friend too? Or had he simply been using me to ease his loneliness . . . and had I been doing the same? Or were we more than just friends?
I gave up lying sleepless in the bed and crept out to the beach, though it was even too early for sunrise. My heart started to pound as I thought of leaving the security of the little universe Ace and I had created together. I'd miss him—and this paradise—a lot.
Po was just returning to his post for the daytime shift as I walked back to the gate to enter the palace for the final time.
"Got your pictures, madam." He reached into his nylon rucksack to retrieve some brightly colored photo envelopes. He leafed through four of them, checking the contents, and I wondered if this was a service he offered on the side to other residents of Phra Nang Beach to make a few extra baht.
"These yours," he confirmed, tucking the other two packs back into his rucksack.
"Thanks," I said, reminding myself to pay him and give him a decent tip when I left, then I walked up the path to my room to pack.
An hour later, I hoisted my rucksack onto my back and shut the door behind me. I stomped miserably down to the terrace, where Ace was pacing up and down. I was chuffed to see that he looked as depressed and agitated as I did.
"You off?"
"Yeah." I drew the envelope of photos out of my back pocket and put it on the table. "They're for you."
"And here's my mobile number," he said, handing me a piece of paper in return.
We stood there awkwardly, staring at each other. And I just wanted the moment to be over.
"Thanks so much for . . . everything."
"No need to thank me, CeCe. It's been a pleasure."
"Right then." I made to heave the rucksack onto my shoulders again, but then he opened his arms.
"Come here." He pulled me to him and gave me an enormous hug, his chin resting on the top of my head. "Promise to keep in touch?"
"Yeah, course."
"And you never know, I just might make it to Australia," he said as he carried my rucksack to the gate.
"That would be great. Bye then."
"Bye, CeCe."
Po pressed the red button to let me out, and I gave him the cash for the photos, then offered him the tip. Surprisingly he refused it, shaking his head and looking at me with that guilty expression of his.
"Bye-bye, madam."
I walked down Plebs' Path to Railay, feeling too upset to go and say good-bye to Jack and the gang. Not that I expected they'd miss me. As I passed the bar, I saw Jay loitering on the edge of the veranda with a Singha beer, an accessory that seemed to be glued permanently to his fingers. I made to walk straight past him—I wasn't in the mood for small talk.
"Hiya, CeCe," he intercepted me. "You off?"
"Yeah."
"Not taking your new boyfriend with you?" I saw a glint in his booze-soaked eyes and a smile that managed to be more like a sneer on his lips.
"You got it wrong, Jay. I don't have a boyfriend."
"Nah, course you don't."
"I've got to go, or I'll miss my flight. Bye."
"How's that sister of yours?" he called after me.
"Fine," I shouted back, as I continued to walk.
"Send her my best, won't you?"
I pretended not to hear and marched on across the sand toward the long-tail boats waiting to ferry passengers back to Krabi town.
As the plane left the runway at Suvarnabhumi airport heading for Sydney, I thought that the upside of my head's having been so full of Ace in the last few hours was that at least I hadn't dwelled on either the twelve-hour plane journey or what I might find when I got there. I had also managed to buy what the airport pharmacist had called "sleepy pills" to aid my journey. I'd taken two for good measure just as boarding was announced—but if anything, I now felt more awake and alert than I normally did and wondered if those pills contained caffeine rather than a sleeping potion.
Thankfully, the plane was relatively empty and I had two spare seats next to me, so as soon as the seat belt sign was switched off, I stretched across them and made myself comfortable, telling my brain that I was exhausted and drugged and would it please do me a favor and go to sleep.
It obviously wasn't listening and after some restless tossing and turning, I sat up and accepted the plane food offered by the Thai stewardess. I even had a beer to calm my thoughts. That didn't work either. So as the cabin lights dimmed, I lay back down and forced myself to think of what lay ahead.
After landing in Sydney in the early morning, I was headed for a town called Darwin right up on the northern tip of Australia. From there, I had to take another plane to the town of Broome. What had really irritated me about this when I'd booked my flights was that I had to fly straight over both places down to near the bottom of Australia, then all the way back up again. This meant extra hours in the air, never mind the time spent in transit at the Sydney airport.
I'd looked up Broome on the Internet at the airport, and from the photos, it looked like it had a really cool beach. These days it was a tourist spot more than anything else, but long ago, due to what I'd learned from Kitty Mercer's biography, I knew it had been the center of the pearling industry. I wondered if that was where my legacy had come from . . .
If there was one thing that the past few weeks had taught me, it was that the cliché of money not buying happiness was absolutely true. I thought of Ace, who was obviously super rich, but lonely and miserable. I wondered if he was missing me. Tonight, I was really missing him . . . Not in a soppy way, like I couldn't live without him or anything, or longed for the touch of his hand on mine. I mean, the sex had been fine, and much better than any I'd had before, but the bit I'd enjoyed the most was the closeness, just like I'd had with Star.
Ace had filled the yawning gap she had left behind. He'd been my friend, and even my confidant up to a point. That's how I miss him, I thought, just the fact that he was there beside me. I knew that in the real world outside the palace, our paths would never have crossed. He was a rich City boy, used to blond female twigs who bought designer handbags and wore five-inch stilettos.
It had been a moment in time: two lonely people cast adrift on a beach, helping each other through. He would move on, and so would I, but I really hoped we'd always be friends.
At this point either the beer or the "sleepy pills" kicked in, because I was conscious of nothing more until the stewardess woke me up to tell me we were landing in Sydney in forty-five minutes.
Two hours later, I took off again on a far smaller plane to retrace my earlier flight path back up across Australia. As we left Sydney behind, I looked down and saw emptiness. Nothing, literally nothing, except for red. Yet it was a red that wasn't really red . . . the closest I could come to describing the color of the earth beneath me was that it looked like the paprika spice that Star sometimes used in her cooking.
Immediately I wondered how I could replicate the color in a painting. After a while I realized I had ages to think about this, because the paprika earth went on and on and on beneath me. It was mostly flat, the landscape reminding me of a gone-off tomato soup: browning at the edges, with the odd thin dribble of cream that had been poured on the top of it to indicate a road or a river.
Yet as we neared Darwin, with my final destination close by, I felt a sudden clutch at my heart that sent it beating faster. I felt oddly exhilarated and tearful, in the way I did when I watched a moving but uplifting film. It was like I wanted to slam my fist through the Perspex window, jump out, and land on that hard, unforgiving red earth that I felt instinctively was somehow a part of me. Or, more accurately, I was a part of it.
After we'd landed, the elation I'd felt was soon replaced by abject fear as I boarded what looked like some kind of plastic toy plane, it was so tiny. No one else around me looked worried as we bumped and bounced in the air currents and then descended into somewhere called Kununurra, a town I'd never heard of and which certainly wasn't Broome. When I made to get off, I was told that this was just a stop and Broome would be the next port of call, as if we were on a bus or a train. The scary flying bus took off again and I took another sleepy pill to calm my nerves. When we finally touched down on an airstrip that looked not much longer than the average Geneva driveway, I actually crossed myself.
Out on the concourse of the tiny airport, I looked for the information center and saw a desk, behind which sat a girl who had skin just about the same color as mine. Even her hair—a mass of ebony curls—looked similar.
"G'day, can I help you?" She smiled at me warmly.
"Yeah, I'm looking for somewhere to stay in town for a couple of nights."
"Then you've come to the right place," she said, handing me a heap of leaflets.
"Which one do you recommend?"
"My favorite is the Pearl House on Carnarvon Street, but I'm not meant to give personal preferences," she added with a grin. "Shall I find out if they have a room?"
"That would be great," I replied, feeling my legs twitching beneath me—they'd obviously had enough of carrying me thousands of miles across the globe. "Could it be on the second floor? Or the third? Just not on the ground."
"No worries."
While she made a call, I told myself that I was being ridiculous; spiders could climb upward, couldn't they? Or along drainpipes into showers . . .
"Yeah, Mrs. Cousins has got a spare room," she said as she put the phone down, wrote out the details, and handed them to me. "The taxi rank is just out front."
"Thanks."
"You French?" she asked.
"Swiss, actually."
"Come here to see your relatives?"
"Maybe," I said with a shrug, wondering how she knew.
"Well, my name's Chrissie and here's my card. Call me if you need some help and maybe I'll see you around."
"Yeah, thanks," I said as I walked off toward the exit, amazed at both her friendliness and her perception.
I was already sweating by the time I climbed into a taxi and the driver told me it was only a short journey into town. We stopped in front of a low building overlooking a large green, the wide road lined with a mixture of small shops and houses.
The hotel was basic, but as I entered my room, I was glad to see it was spotless and, having done a thorough inspection, spider-free.
I went to check the time on my mobile, but the battery was obviously completely dead. All I could go by was that dusk was falling, which probably meant it was around six o'clock at night. My body was telling me it was time for sleep, even if my mobile couldn't.
I stripped off my plane clothes, climbed between the sheets, and eventually fell asleep.
I woke up to see a really bright sun glaring in from the naked window. I showered, dressed, and hurried downstairs to see if there was anything to eat.
"Can I get some breakfast?" I asked the lady on reception.
"That was cleared away hours ago. It's almost two in the afternoon, love."
"Right. Is there anywhere local I can get something to eat?"
"There's the Runway Bar down the road that does pizza and what have you. Best you can do this time of day. There's more places open later."
"Thanks."
I went and stood outside the hotel. Even for me, the sun felt searingly hot, as if it had moved a few thousand miles closer to the earth during the night. Everyone else who had a brain was obviously inside hiding from it, because the street was deserted. Farther down, I saw four bronze statues next to a car park and went to take a look. Three were of men in suits, all old judging by the wrinkles, and the fourth—wearing a jumpsuit, heavy boots, and a round helmet that covered his entire face—looked like an astronaut. There were plaques with tiny writing on them, probably describing what made these men so special, but I was beginning to feel sick in the sun and I knew I needed food. By the time I arrived at the Runway Bar, sweat was pouring off me from the humidity.
I went to the counter and immediately ordered water, gulping back the whole bottle as soon as it was handed to me. I decided on a burger, and took one of the free maps detailing the attractions in the town before finding a seat at a faded plastic table.
"Youse a tourist?" asked the young guy who brought the burger over to me.
"Yeah."
"You're brave, love. We don't get many of you here at this time of year. It's the Big Wet, ya see. My advice is don't go far without an umbrella. Or a fan," he added. "Though both are pretty useless in the wet season."
I ate my burger in about four mouthfuls, then studied the map of the town again. As usual, the letters in the words jumbled before my eyes, but I soldiered on and eventually found the place I was looking for. Going back to the counter to pay and grab some more water, I pointed out the spot on the map to the waiter.
"How far away is this?"
"The museum? From here, it's about a twenty-minute walk."
"Okay, thanks." I turned around to leave but he stopped me.
"It's closed this arvo, though. Try tomorrow."
"I will. Bye."
It felt like everything in Broome was closed in the afternoon. Back in my room, I remembered my dead mobile and plugged it in next to the bed to charge. While I was in the bathroom, I was surprised to hear it pinging again and again and I scurried back to look at it.
"Wow!" I grunted under my breath as the screen displayed messages from Star and my other sisters. I opened the text page on my phone and scrolled down, and the messages kept on coming. I saw there were a number of missed calls too.
I started on the texts first.
STAR: Cee! OMG! Call me. Xx
MAIA: CeCe, where are you? What's going on? Call me! X
ALLY: It is YOU, isn't it? Call me. X
TIGGY: Are u okay? Thinking of you. Call me. Xx
Electra . . .
Electra had texted me . . .
In a total panic as to why all my sisters were suddenly contacting me, I concentrated on deciphering Electra's text.
You dark horse, you!
There was no kiss or a "call me" at the end of her text, but neither did I expect it.
"Something's up," I muttered to myself as I scrolled down and saw a text from a number I didn't know.
I trusted you. Hope you're happy.
I leapt to my rucksack and got out the scrap of paper on which Ace had written down his mobile number and saw it matched the number on my screen.
"Oh God, Cee . . ." I scraped the palms of my hands distractedly up and down my cheeks. "What have you done? Christ!" I mentally retraced my footsteps since leaving Thailand, searching for clues as to what it could have been.
You've been on a plane for most of the time . . .
Nope, there was nothing. Nothing I'd said, or even thought, about Ace that was bad. Quite the opposite, in fact. I stood up and paced across the small, tiled room, then I went back to my mobile and dialed the voice mail number, to be told in a strong Australian accent that it wasn't the right one, but without telling me what the right one was. I threw the phone onto the bed in irritation.
Even though it would cost a fortune, I had to find out what had happened. The best way was to go straight to the horse's mouth, which was Ace.
Wishing for once I was a drinker—a few shots of whiskey chased down by a tequila slammer or four might have calmed the trembling in my fingers—I tapped in Ace's number. Squaring up my body as though I were about to have a physical fight, I waited for it to connect.
A different Australian voice informed me, "This number is unavailable." Thinking that maybe I'd got it wrong, I tried another ten or even fifteen times, but still the answer was the same.
"Shit! So, what do I do now . . . ?" I asked myself.
Phone Star . . . she'll know.
I paced some more, because it would mean breaking the silence, and I knew that hearing her voice for the first time in weeks might break me too. Still, I knew I had no choice. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep tonight without knowing what I'd done.
I dialed Star's number and it rang eventually, which was something. Then I heard my sister's voice, and did my best to swallow a gulp of emotion as she said hello.
"It's me, Sia . . . ," I said, reverting automatically to the pet name I used when I spoke to her.
"Cee! Are you okay? Where are you?"
"In Australia . . . in the middle of nowhere." I managed a chuckle.
"Australia? But you always refused to go there!"
"I know, but here I am. Listen, do you know why I've got all these texts from everyone?"
There was a silence on the other end. Finally, she said, "Yes. Don't you?"
"No. I really don't."
Another pause, but I was used to those from her and I waited for her to choose her words. The result was disappointing.
"Oh," she said. "I see."
"See what? Seriously, Sia, I really don't know. Can you tell me?"
"I . . . yes. It's to do with the man you were photographed with."
"Photographed with? Who?"
"Anand Changrok, the rogue trader who broke Berners Bank and then disappeared off the face of the earth."
"Who? What?! I don't even know an 'Anand Changrok.' "
"A tall, dark-haired man who looks oriental?"
"Oh. God. Shit . . . it's Ace!"
"You do know him then?" said Star.
"Yes, but not what he's done. What has he done?"
"He didn't tell you?"
"Of course he didn't! Otherwise I wouldn't be calling you to find out, would I? And what do you mean, he 'broke' a bank?"
"I don't know the details, but it's to do with illegal trading. Anyway, by the time his fraud was discovered, he'd already left the UK. From what I read in the Times yesterday, intelligence services all over the world have been looking for him."
"Jesus Christ, Sia! He never said a word."
"How on earth did you meet him?"
"He was just some guy on Phra Nang Beach—you remember, the really"—I stopped myself from saying "ace"—"beautiful one with the limestone pillars."
"Of course I remember."
I thought I heard a slight catch in her voice as she said this.
"But how come everyone in the world seems to know that I knew him?" I continued.
"Because there's a photograph of the two of you on a beach with your arms around each other on the front of every single newspaper in England. I saw it this morning at the newsagent's next to the bookshop. You're famous, Cee."
I paused to think, and an entire stream of memories downloaded in my brain: Ace's refusal to come out in public by day, his insistence that I never tell anyone where I was living . . . and, most of all, Po, the security guard who'd taken the photograph . . .
"Cee? Are you still there?"
"Yeah," I said eventually, as I thought how Po had been keen to take photos of me and Ace together. By handing him my camera on our last night, I'd also handed him the perfect opportunity. No wonder he'd been so eager to take my roll of film to his "cousin" in Krabi town . . . He'd obviously made copies too, which would explain the extra photograph wallets I'd seen in his rucksack. Then I remembered Jay, the ex-journalist, and wondered if the two of them had been in cahoots.
"Are you okay?" Star asked me.
"Not really, no. It was all a mistake," I added limply as I also remembered the envelope of photos I'd left for Ace on the table. If there was ever an act that had come from the best part of my soul that could be interpreted as having come from the worst, that was it.
"Cee, tell me where you are. Seriously, I can get on a plane tonight and be there for you by tomorrow. Or at least the day after."
"No, it's okay. I'll be fine. You okay?" I managed.
"Yes, apart from the fact that I miss you. Really, anything I can do to help, just tell me."
"Thanks. Gotta go now," I said before I broke down completely. "Bye, Sia."
I pressed the button to end the call, then switched off my mobile. I lay down flat on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I couldn't even cry—I was way past tears. Once again, it looked like I'd managed to mess up a beautiful friendship.
## 12
I woke up the next day feeling a bit like I had the morning after I'd heard the news about Pa Salt's death. The first few seconds of consciousness were okay, before the deluge of reality poured down on my head. I rolled over and buried my face in the cheap foam pillow. I didn't want to be awake, didn't want to face the truth. It was almost—but not quite—funny, because even if I had known Ace was a wanted criminal, I was far too much of a dunce to have made something out of it. Others had been clever enough to do it, though, and I'd got the blame.
Ace must have hated me. And he had every right to.
Just imagining what he must have been thinking of me right then was enough to turn my stomach. For real, I realized as I dashed to the toilet and retched. Standing up, I washed my mouth out and drank some water, deciding that all I could do was to go and confront the evidence. "Face your fears," I told myself as I dressed and went downstairs to reception.
"Is there an Internet café around here?" I asked the woman behind the desk.
"Yeah, sure. Turn right and walk about two hundred meters. There's an alleyway, and you'll see it there."
"Thanks."
I stepped outside into massive paprika-colored puddles that pooled on the uneven pavements and realized it must have poured down last night. As I walked, I felt floaty, like I was drunk, which was probably caused by a lethal cocktail of misery and fear at what the computer screen might show me.
Once I'd paid my few dollars to the woman at the front of the café, she indicated a booth and I went into it and sat down, feeling sick again. I logged on with the code she'd given me, then stared at the web browser wondering what I should tap in. Star had told me Ace's real name, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was. And even if I could have, I wouldn't have been able to spell it.
"Bank crash."
I pressed enter, but it brought up something about Wall Street in 1929.
"Wanted cremenal bank man."
That brought up a page about John Wayne in some cowboy movie.
In the end I tapped in "bank man hiding in thailand" and pressed "enter." A whole screen of headlines ranging from the Times to the New York Times to a Chinese paper flickered up. I clicked on "Images" first, as I needed to see what everybody else had seen.
And there it was: the photo of the two of us at sunset on Phra Nang Beach—me! Staring back at me in full Technicolor, for all the world to see, including this—as John Wayne might say—one-horse town.
"Christ." I swore under my breath, studying the picture more closely. I saw I was actually smiling, which I didn't often do in photos. Encircled in Ace's arms, I looked happy, so happy that I almost didn't recognize myself. And actually, I don't look that bad, I thought, instinctively patting the hair that currently massed in tight ringlets around my shoulders. I understood now why Star liked it better long; at least I looked like a girl in the photo, not an ugly boy.
Stop it, I told myself, because this really wasn't the moment to be vain. Yet as I clicked on the endless reproductions of the photo—including those in a load of Australian papers—I allowed myself a grim chuckle. Of all the D'Aplièse sisters to end up on the front page of a shedload of national newspapers, I had to be the most unlikely. Even Electra had never managed such a full house.
Then I got real, clicked onto the articles, and began trying to decipher what they were saying. The good news was that at least I was "an unnamed woman," so I wasn't bringing shame on my family. But Ace . . .
Two hours later, I left the café. Though my legs had let me puddle-jump earlier, now it was all I could do to make them put one foot in front of the other. Turning into the hotel lobby, I asked the receptionist how I could get to the beach. I needed some air and some space, big-time.
"I'll call you a taxi," she said.
"I really can't walk?"
"No, darl', it's too far in this heat."
"Okay." I did as I was told and sat down on a hard, cheap sofa in the lobby until the taxi arrived. I climbed inside and we set off with me sitting numbly in the back. The view out of the window seemed to be devoid of human life—there was only the red earth alongside the wide road, and loads of empty building lots where clouds of white birds sat in the tall shady trees, their heads turning as one as the taxi went by.
"Here you go, love. That'll be seven dollars," the driver said. "Stop into the Sunset Bar over there when you need a lift back and they'll give me a holler."
"Sure, thanks," I said, giving him a ten-dollar bill and not waiting for the change.
I plunged my feet into the soft sand and ran toward the big blue mass, knowing that if anyone needed to drown their sorrows, it was me. Arriving on the shoreline, my toes felt the coolness of the water and even though I was still in my shorts and a T-shirt, I dived straight in. I swam and swam in the gorgeous water, so clear that I could see the shadows of seabirds flying above flickering on the underwater sand. After a while I waded back to shore, totally exhausted, and lay flat on my back in this deserted piece of heaven in the middle of nowhere. To the left and right of me, the beach seemed to stretch on for miles and the heat that had felt so oppressive in town was swept away by the ocean breeze. There wasn't another person in sight, and I wondered why the locals weren't queuing up to swim in this perfect pool on their very doorstep.
"Ace . . . ," I whispered, feeling I should say something meaningful to the sky to express my distress. But as usual, the right words wouldn't come, so I let the feelings run through me instead.
What I had eventually puzzled together from all the online articles was that Ace was "notorious." I'd had to look up the word in an online dictionary, like Star had taught me to: widely and unfavorably known . . .
My Ace, the man I had trusted and befriended, was all things bad. No one in the world had a good word to say about him. Yet, unless he was the most brilliant actor on the planet, I couldn't believe that the guy they were describing was the same one I had lived and laughed with up until only a few days ago.
Apparently he'd done a load of fraudulent trading. The sum he'd "gambled away" was so astronomical that at first I thought they'd got the number of zeros wrong. That anyone could lose that much money was just outrageous—I mean, where exactly did it go? Certainly not down the back of the sofa, anyway.
The reason everyone was doubly up in arms was because he'd run away the minute it had all been discovered and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since November. Until now, of course.
Thanks to me, his cover had been blown. Yet, having seen all the photographs of him a year or so ago in his sharp Savile Row suits, clean-shaven, with hair far shorter than mine usually was, it seemed unlikely that anyone in Krabi would have recognized the skinny werewolf guy on the beach as the most wanted man in the banking world. Now I thought about it, his borrowed Thai paradise had been the perfect place to hide: There, among the thousands of young backpackers, he'd had the perfect smokescreen.
Today's Bangkok Post said that the British authorities were now in talks with the Thai authorities to have him "extradited." Again, I'd gone back to the online dictionary, and found out this meant that they were basically going to drag him back to England to face the music.
I felt a couple of sharp pinpricks on my face and looked up to see the storm clouds that had gathered into angry gray clumps overhead. I legged it up to the beach bar just in time, and sat with a pineapple shake to watch the natural light show. It reminded me so much of the storm I'd seen from the Cave of the Princess before I'd been semi-arrested, and now it looked like Ace was going to be arrested for real when he got back to England.
If only things were different . . .
At the time, I thought Ace's problems had something to do with another woman, but it couldn't have been farther from the truth. If our paths ever crossed again, I was sure he'd want to knife me rather than hug me.
What made that stupid lump come back to my throat was the fact that he had trusted me. He'd even given me his precious mobile number, which I knew from countless films could be traced to find the location of the owner. He must have really wanted to keep in touch with me if he'd been willing to take that risk.
I knew, just knew, that that lowlife Jay was part of this. He'd probably recognized Ace through his seedy journalist's eyes, then followed him to the palace and bribed Po to get pictures as proof. I didn't doubt he'd sold the photo and Ace's whereabouts to the highest bidder and was now celebrating that he had enough dosh to keep himself in Singha beer for the next fifty years.
Not that it mattered now. Ace would never believe it hadn't been me and nor would I, if I were him. Especially as I'd purposely not told him about Jay's recognizing him, albeit only so he wouldn't worry. It would sound like a bunch of pathetic excuses. I couldn't even contact him now anyway; I'd have bet my life that his SIM card was swimming with the fishes on Phra Nang Beach.
"Oh, Cee," I berated myself as desolation engulfed me. "You've totally mucked it up again. You're just useless!"
I want to go home . . .
"G'day," a voice said from behind me. "How ya doing?"
I turned around and saw the girl from the tourist information desk standing behind me.
"Okay."
"You waiting for someone?" she asked me.
"No, I don't know anybody here yet."
"Then mind if I join you?"
"Course not," I said, thinking it would be rude to say otherwise, even if I wasn't exactly in the mood for small talk.
"Did you just go swimming?" She frowned at me. "Your hair's wet."
"Erm, yeah," I said, patting it nervously, wondering if it was sticking up or something.
"Strewth! Has no one warned you about the jellyfish? They're brutal this time of year—we don't go into the sea here until March, after the coast is clear. You got lucky then. One sting off an irukandji and you coulda carked it. Like, died," she translated.
"Thanks for telling me. Any other dangerous things I should know about?"
"Aside from the crocs in the creeks and the poisonous snakes that roam around this time of year, no. So, have you managed to contact yer rellies yet?"
"You mean my relatives?" I double-checked, trying to keep up with the Aussie slang. "No, not yet. I mean, I don't think I actually have any alive here. I'm tracing my family history and Broome is where I was told to start."
"Yeah, it fits." The girl—whose name I was struggling to remember—flashed her lovely amber eyes at me. "You've got all the hallmarks of being from around these parts."
"Have I?"
"Yeah. Your hair, the color of your skin, and your eyes . . . bet I could tell you where they came from."
"Really? Where?"
"I'd reckon you've got Aboriginal blood with some whitefella mixed in, and maybe those eyes came from Japtown, like mine." She gestured vaguely inland. "Broome was heaving with Japanese a few generations ago, and there are lots of mixed kids like us around."
"You're part Aboriginal?" I asked, wishing now I'd taken some time to do more research on Australia, because I really was sounding like a dunce. At least I suddenly recalled her name. It was Chrissie.
"I have Aboriginal grandparents. They're Yawuru—that's the main Aboriginal tribe in this neck of the woods. What's CeCe short for?" she asked me.
"Celaeno. I know, it's a weird name."
"That's beaut!" It was Chrissie's turn to look amazed.
"Is it?"
"Yeah, course it is! You're named after one of the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades—the Gumanyba. They're like goddesses in our culture."
I was speechless. No one had ever—ever—known where my name came from.
"You really don't know a lot about your ancestors, do you?" she said.
"Nope. Nothing." Then feeling rude as well as stupid, I added, "But I'd really like to learn more."
"My grandma is the real expert on all that stuff. Reckon she'd be stoked to tell you her Dreamtime stories—stuff that's been passed down through the generations. Give me a call whenever and I'll take you to meet her."
"Yeah, that would be great." I glanced out at the beach and saw the rain was now a memory, replaced by a golden-purple sun sinking fast toward the horizon. My attention was caught by a man and a camel strolling along the beach in front of the bar.
Chrissie turned to look at them too. "Hey, that's my mate Ollie—he works for the camel tour company," she said, waving enthusiastically at the man.
Ollie came up to the café to say hello, leaving his camel waiting on the beach, its face sleepy and docile. Ollie was darker skinned than us, his long face handsome, and he had to stoop to embrace Chrissie. I sat there awkwardly as they began chatting, realizing that they weren't speaking English to each other, but a language I'd never heard before.
"Ollie, this is CeCe—it's her first time in Broome."
"G'day," he said, and shook my hand with his callused one. "Ever been on a camel?"
"No," I said.
"D'ya fancy having a go now? I was taking Gobbie out for a stroll to teach him some manners—he's new and wild, so we haven't tied him to the others yet. But I'm sure you sheilas can keep him in check." He winked at us.
"Really?" I said nervously.
"Sure, any mate of Chrissie's and all that," he said warmly.
We followed Ollie to Gobbie the camel, who turned his head away like a spoiled toddler as Ollie ordered him to kneel. After the umpteenth time, Gobbie finally agreed.
"You ever done this before?" I whispered to Chrissie as we both clambered onto his back. The scent coming off him was overpowering; in essence, he stank.
"Yeah," she whispered, her breath tickling my ear. "Get ready for a bumpy ride."
With a lurch, Gobbie suddenly stood up, and I felt one of Chrissie's hands close around my waist to steady me as we were propelled upward into the sky. The sun was beginning to dip toward the ocean, and the camel's body cast a long shadow on the golden sand, his legs spindly, like something from a Dalí painting.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good," I replied.
The ride was certainly not smooth, as Gobbie seemed to be doing his very best to run away. As we jolted over the sand, the two of us screamed as Gobbie began to canter and I realized just how fast camels could move.
"Come back, ya drongo!" Ollie shouted, panting to keep pace, but Gobbie took no notice. Eventually, Ollie managed to slow the camel down, and Chrissie rested her chin on my shoulder, panting in relief.
"Strewth! That was quite a ride!" she said as we then walked more sedately along the beach. The setting sun had set the sky alight with pinks, purples, and deep reds which were perfectly reflected in the ocean below. I felt as if I were gliding through a painting, the clouds like pools of oils on a palette.
Gobbie carried us back to the Sunset Bar, where he tipped us off inelegantly onto the sand. We waved good-bye to Ollie, and then went up the veranda steps.
"Reckon we could use something cold after all that excitement," Chrissie said as she flopped into a chair. "What d'ya want to drink?"
I asked for an orange juice and so did she, then we sat together at the bar, recovering.
"So how you gonna find your family?" she asked. "Got any clues?"
"A couple," I said, fiddling with my straw, "and I don't really know what to do with them. Apart from the name of a woman who led me here, I've got a black-and-white photograph of two men—one old and one much younger—but I've no idea who they are, or what they've got to do with me."
"Have you shown it to anyone here yet? Maybe someone would recognize them," Chrissie suggested.
"No. I'm going to the museum tomorrow. I thought I might get some answers from there."
"D'ya mind if I take a look? If they're from around these parts, I might know 'em."
"Why not? The photo is back in my room at the hotel."
"No worries. I'll give you a lift, then we can take a look together."
We walked outside to the street, where dusk had brought with it the sounds of thousands of insects buzzing through the air, only to be snatched up by bats swooping to catch their prey. A shadow crossed the empty road, and at first I thought it was a cat, but when it froze and stared at me, I saw it had big wide eyes and a pink pointed snout.
"That's a possum, Cee," Chrissie commented. "They're like vermin here. My grandma used to put them in her pot and cook 'em for supper."
"Oh," I said as I followed her through the car park to a battered, rusting moped.
"You okay on the back of the bike?" she asked.
"After that camel ride, it sounds like heaven," I joked.
"Jump aboard then." She handed me an old helmet, and I put it on before looping my hands around her middle. After a wobbly start, we set off. There was a welcome breeze on my face—a respite from what was another incredibly humid evening, with not a breath of wind to stir the heavy air.
We came to a halt in front of the hotel and as Chrissie parked the moped, I ran inside to fetch the photograph. When I returned to reception, Chrissie was chatting with the woman behind the counter.
"I've got it," I said, waving it at her. We settled in the tiny residents' lounge off reception, sitting together on the sticky leatherette sofa. Chrissie bent her head to study it.
"It's a really bad picture, 'cause the sun's directly behind them and it's in black and white," I said.
"You mean you can't tell what color the people in it are?" Chrissie queried. "I'd say the older man is black and the boy is lighter skinned." She held the photograph under the light of a lamp. "I'd reckon it was taken in the 1940s or '50s. There's some writing on the side of the pickup truck behind them. Can you see?" She passed the photo back to me.
"Yeah, looks like it says 'JIRA.' "
"Holy dooley!" Chrissie pointed at the taller figure standing in front of the car. "I think I know who that man is."
There was a pause as she gaped at me with excitement and I stared back at her blankly.
"Who?"
"Albert Namatjira, the artist—he's just about the most famous Aboriginal man in Australia. He was born in and worked out of a mission in Hermannsburg, a couple of hours outside Alice Springs. Y'don't think he was related to you, do you?"
A shiver ran through me. "How would I know? Is he dead?"
"Yeah, he died a fair while back, in the late 1950s. He was the first Aboriginal man to have the same rights as the whites. He could own land, vote, drink alcohol, and he even met the queen of England. He was an amazing painter—I've gotta print of Mount Hermannsburg on my bedroom wall."
Clearly, Chrissie was a fan of this guy. "So, before that time, Aboriginal people didn't have those rights?"
"Nah, not until the late sixties," she explained. "But Namatjira got his rights early 'cause of his artistic talent. What a bloke. Even if he isn't a rellie of yours, it's a big clue to where y'might have come from. How old are you?"
"Twenty-seven."
"So . . ." I watched Chrissie do some mental arithmetic. "That means you were born in 1980, which means he might be your granddad! Y'know what this means, right?" she said, beaming at me. "You gotta go to Alice Springs next. Wow, CeCe, I can't believe it's him in the pic!" Chrissie threw her arms around me and squeezed me tight.
"Okay," I gulped. "I'd actually been planning on heading to Adelaide to speak to the solicitor who passed on a legacy to me. Where is Alice Springs?"
"It's right in the middle of the country—what we call the Never Never. I've always wanted to go there—it's near Uluru." When she saw my confused expression, she rolled her eyes. "Ayers Rock to you, idiot."
"So what kind of stuff did this guy paint?"
"He totally revolutionized Aboriginal art. He did these incredible watercolor landscapes, and started a whole new school of painting. It takes serious skill to paint a good watercolor, rather than just blobbing paint onto a canvas. He gave his landscapes luminosity—he really knew how to layer the watercolors to get the play of light just right."
"Wow. How do you know all this?"
"I've always loved art," Chrissie said. "I did Aussie culture as part of my tourism degree and spent a semester at uni studying Aboriginal artists."
I wasn't ready to admit that I'd studied art at college too but had dropped out. "So, did this guy ever paint other stuff, like portraits?" I asked, curious to know more.
"Portraits are complicated in our culture. Like, it's a big taboo because you're replicating someone's essence; it would grieve the spirits up there 'cause they've done their job down here and want to be left in peace. When one of us dies, we're not supposed to speak their name again."
"Really?" I thought about how often me and Star had mentioned Pa Salt since he'd died. "Isn't it good to remember those you love and miss?"
"Course, but speaking their name calls them back, and they're happy to help us from up there."
I nodded, trying to take it all in, but it had been a long day already and I couldn't hide a huge yawn.
"I'm not boring you, am I?" she teased me.
"Sorry, I'm just super tired from traveling."
"No worries, I'll let you get your beauty sleep." She stood up. "Oh, and give me a call tomorrow if you're up for meeting my grandma."
"I will. Thanks, Chrissie."
With a wave, she walked out of the hotel and I climbed the stairs, too exhausted to process what I'd just discovered, but feeling a shiver of excitement at the fact that the man in the photograph had been an artist, just like me . . .
## 13
I was awake weirdly early the next morning. Maybe because I'd had a dream—which had been so real and vivid that I struggled to bring myself back to reality.
I'd been a little girl sitting on the knee of an older woman, who for some reason was naked, at least up top. She'd led me by the hand across a red desert to a plant under which was some kind of insect nest. She pointed to it and said it was my job to look after them. I was pretty sure it had something to do with honey, but the really strange thing was that, despite my hatred of anything with far more legs than I had, I'd actually held one of the insects like it was a pet hamster or something. I'd stroked it with my small fingers as it had crawled across my palm. I even remembered feeling the tickling sensation of its legs. Whatever it was, I knew it had been my friend, not my enemy.
Galvanized by all that I had learned yesterday, I picked up the hotel phone and dialed the number of the solicitor's office in Adelaide. Even if I wasn't going there, I thought I might as well get some answers. After several rings, a crisp female voice came on the line.
"Angus and Tine, how can I help you?"
"Hi, can I speak to Mr. Angus Junior, please?"
"He retired a few months ago, I'm afraid," the woman said. "But Talitha Myers has taken on his casework. Shall I make an appointment for you?"
"I'm actually in Broome, and I just wanted to ask a few quick questions. Should I call back when she's free or—"
"Hold on, please."
"Talitha Myers speaking," said a different voice. "How can I help you?"
"Hi, I received an inheritance last year that was sent from Mr. Angus to my father's lawyer in Switzerland. My name is Celaeno D'Aplièse."
"Okay. Do you know the exact date when the inheritance was sent to your father's lawyer?"
"I got it in June last year when my dad died, but I'm not sure how long before that his lawyer had actually received it."
"And what was the name of the lawyer?"
"Hoffman and Associates in Geneva."
"Right, here it is." There was a pause. "So what can I do for you?"
"I'm trying to trace my family and I was hoping you had a record of who the inheritance was from?"
"Let me look at the notes on the computer, though sadly they won't tell me much, as Mr. Angus preferred to write everything down, like all the oldies do . . . Nope, nothing. Hang on, I'll just check if there's anything written in the ledgers."
There was a clatter, and then I heard the sound of pages turning.
"Here it is. So . . . from what I can gather—it says to refer to notes for January 1964—'trust set up by deceased Katherine Mercer.' "
Katherine, Kitty . . . I almost dropped the phone in shock. "Kitty Mercer?"
"You know of her?"
"A bit," I mumbled. "Do you have any idea who she set the trust up for?"
"Can't make it out from these notes, I'm afraid, but I can go down into the vaults to take a look at the 1964 ledger. Should I give you a call once I've found out?"
"That would be brilliant, thanks." I gave her my mobile number, then ended the call, my heart in my throat. Was I somehow related to Kitty after all?
I left the hotel to walk down the road back to the Internet café, wanting to spend some time looking into Albert Namatjira. I halted in front of a newsagent's on seeing a familiar face on the front of the Australian.
### CHANGROK GIVES HIMSELF UP AND FLIES HOME
"Shit!" I gasped as I studied the photo more closely: Ace was in handcuffs, being led down the steps of a plane and surrounded by a load of men in uniform.
I bought the paper, knowing it would take me a long time to decipher what the paragraph beneath it said. It was also "continued on page 4." I turned tail and walked back to the hotel. It was pointless to carry on to the Internet café—my brain was incapable of multitasking at the best of times, and this really wasn't the moment to investigate Albert Namatjira as well.
Back upstairs in my room, I realized how much I'd depended on Star to translate the gobbledygook of newsprint, e-mails, and books for me. And even though she had texted me a couple of times overnight to check I was okay, and I was sure she'd be happy to help, I felt it was important that I proved to myself that I could cope alone. So I sat cross-legged on my bed and did my best to decode what the newspaper said about my Ace.
Anand Changrok, the rogue trader who broke Berners investment bank last November, flew home today from his Thai hideout and gave himself up at Heathrow. Changrok refused to comment as he was led away by police. Berners Bank, one of the oldest banks in the UK, was recently bought for £1 by Jinqian, a Chinese investment bank.
With news of Changrok's arrest, crowds of angry investors surrounded the entrance to the bank on the Strand in London to protest at their lost funds. Many had their pensions invested in funds run by Berners and have lost their life savings. David Rutter, Berners's chief executive officer, has declined to comment on what level of compensation investors will be offered, but the board of directors announced that a full investigation into how the situation was allowed to develop unnoticed is being carried out.
Changrok has meanwhile been remanded to Wormwood Scrubs prison and will appear in court next Tuesday on charges of fraud and document forgery. Sources say it is unlikely he will receive bail.
So, Ace was currently locked up in a cell in a London prison. I chewed my lip in agitation, thinking that if I'd never asked Po to take that picture, maybe he would have joined me in Australia and the two of us could have become outlaws in the outback together. Maybe I should go and visit him, try to explain the truth in person . . . like, he could hardly run away, given where he was. But it was a long way to go if he refused to see me.
I checked my watch and saw it was past eleven o'clock and the Broome Historical Museum should be open.
I set off with the tourist map of Broome in my hands. As I walked along the wide avenue, I peered through the shop windows and saw trays of pearls—not just white ones, but black and pink pearls strung together on necklaces, or fashioned as delicate earrings. An almighty racket struck up in one of the trees as I passed it.
To my left, across a strip of dense mangroves, was the vast ocean that seamlessly joined the sky at the horizon. Eventually, I spotted the Historical Museum. It looked like a lot of the other buildings in Broome: single story with a corrugated roof and a veranda running along the front.
Once inside, I felt immediately conspicuous as I was the only visitor. A woman sat behind a desk at a computer and popped her freckled face up to give me a tight smile.
I wandered around and saw that everything in there seemed to be about the pearling industry. There were a lot of model boats featured and black-and-white pictures of people sailing on them. My eyes glazed over reading the plaques with descriptions written on them in tiny letters, and I headed for a corner full of ancient-looking equipment. There was another suit identical to the one that was featured in the bronze astronaut sculpture, the round holes in the metal helmet staring at me like empty eyes. I squinted at the card below it, and finally twigged that this was a pearl-diving suit, long before the days of neoprene.
On the next display, pearls sat on red velvet cushions in little wooden boxes. A lot of them looked misshapen, like glistening teardrops that had just splashed to the ground. I had never been a jewelry girl, but there was something about these creamy orbs that made you want to reach out and touch them.
"Can I help you?"
I jumped back from the display guiltily, even though I'd done nothing wrong.
"I was just wondering if you'd ever heard of someone called Kitty Mercer."
"Kitty Mercer? Course I have, love. Doubt there's a Broome local that hasn't. She's one of the most famous people to ever live here."
"Oh, that's good then," I said. "Do you have any information on her?"
"For sure, darl'. Are you doing a school project or something?"
"Uni, actually," I improvised, insulted she thought I was so young.
"I have a lot of female students who come in here to research Kitty Mercer. She was one of Australia's great female pioneers. She more or less ran this town during the early twentieth century. There's a biography of her up there on the rack—it was only written a while back by a local historian. I read it and found out all sorts of things about her I didn't know. I'd recommend it."
"Oh yeah, I think I've got that one already," I said hastily as I saw the biography Ace had bought for me. I wondered if this was the only source of information about Kitty; maybe I'd ask if there was a TV documentary on her I could watch because it would literally take me years to finish the book by myself. Then my eyes fell on a table next to the rack, which offered a small selection of audiobooks. I recognized the cover on the front of one of them.
"Is this a CD of the biography?"
"Yes."
"Great, thanks, I'll take it," I said, relief flooding through me.
"That'll be twenty-nine dollars, love. You're not from around here, are you?" she said as I counted out three ten-dollar bills.
"No."
"Come back to research your own history?" she probed.
"Yeah. That and the uni essay."
"Well, any further help you need, you just let me know."
"I will. Bye, then."
"Bye, love. Glad to see one of you got to uni."
I left the museum gratefully, because there was something about the way the woman looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and discomfort that I didn't like. I tried to push it from my mind as I nipped into a discount store I'd seen on the way and managed to buy a portable CD player and a pair of cheap headphones, as I was pretty sure the other residents of the hotel wouldn't be interested in hearing endless hours of Kitty Mercer's life story being played through the thin bedroom walls.
I grabbed another burger from the café for lunch, and as I walked back to the hotel, I noticed a few black-skinned kids squatting on the green. In fact, one was lying down flat and seemed to be asleep. One who was awake gave me a nod, and I watched another take a slurp out of a beer bottle.
I saw a woman walking around them in a big loop, like they were going to attack her in broad daylight or something. They seemed okay to me—just a bunch of youths like you'd find on any street corner in a city, town, or village.
I had just arrived back in my hotel room when my mobile rang and I saw it was Ma. Feeling bad because I hadn't replied to her messages, I picked up my phone.
"Hello?"
There was a long pause, which was probably the sketchy connection from Switzerland.
"CeCe?"
"Yes. Hi, Ma."
"Chérie! How are you?"
"Good. Well, okay anyway."
"Star tells me you are in Australia."
"Yes, I am."
"You left Thailand?"
"Yup."
There was another pause, which was definitely made by Ma. I could virtually hear her brain whirring as she decided whether or not to ask me about Ace.
"And you are well?" she said eventually.
"I always am, Ma," I said, wondering when she'd cut to the chase.
"Chérie, you know I am here for you if you ever need me."
"I know. Thanks."
"How long will you be in Australia?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest."
"Well, I am just glad to hear your voice."
"And me," I said.
"So, I will say good-bye."
"Ma . . ." As she obviously didn't want to bring it up, I knew I had to.
"Yes, chérie?"
"Do you think Pa would have been cross about that photograph?"
"No. I am sure you did nothing wrong."
"I didn't. I really didn't know about Ace and what he'd done. Has anyone contacted you? I mean, like the newspapers?"
"No, but I will say nothing, even if they do."
"I know you won't. Thanks, Ma. Good night."
"Good night, chérie."
I ended the call, thinking how much I loved that woman. Even if my trip to Australia ended with my finding out who my biological mother had been, I couldn't imagine anyone being more kind, understanding, and supportive than Ma. She had loved us girls with all her heart—which was more than my birth mother had obviously done, because unless Pa had grabbed me out of her arms, she had given me away. There was probably an explanation; maybe she'd been sick, or poor, and thought I was going to a better life with Pa Salt.
But . . . shouldn't the bond between mother and child be stronger than any of that?
I sat back down on the bed, wondering whether I even wanted to continue on this bizarre journey to actually find the people who had given me away. Like, maybe they didn't want me back. Yet Maia, Ally, and Star all seemed to have found new and happier lives because they'd followed their trails . . .
My mobile rang again and I saw it was Chrissie. As I answered, I wondered how she always seemed to be there just when I was feeling low.
"Hi, CeCe? Did you go to the museum today?"
"Yeah."
"Find out anything?"
"Quite a bit, but I'm not sure what it's got to do with me yet."
"Like to meet up later? I spoke to my grandma and she'd really like to meet you."
"Sure."
"So how about I swing past your hotel at three, and take you off to see her?"
"That sounds good, Chrissie, as long as it's no bother."
"No bother at all. Bye, CeCe."
I was just tucking my mobile into my shorts pocket when it rang again and I saw it was Star.
"Hi." Star sounded a bit breathless. "You okay?"
"Yup. Fine. You?"
"Yes, good. Listen, Cee, I thought I should warn you that I had a phone call today. From a newspaper."
"What?"
"I'm not sure how they got my number, but they asked me if I knew where you were. I said I didn't, of course."
"Jesus," I muttered, suddenly feeling as hunted as Ace had. "I really don't know anything, Sia."
"I believe you, darling Cee, of course I do. I just wanted you to know that they have your full name. Do you know how?"
"I bet it's that Jay bloke on Railay—the one who fancied you, remember? He's an ex-journalist and I reckon it was him who sold the photo to the papers. He's mates with Jack at the Railay Beach Hotel and they have all our details—phone numbers, addresses, and stuff—from when we checked in. And it was Jack's girlfriend who told me Jay had recognized Ace. She's the receptionist there. Jay probably bribed her to have a look through her paperwork."
I heard a sudden chuckle from the other end of the line.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. I mean, there has to be a funny side to all this, doesn't there? Only you could end up on the front page of every newspaper with the most wanted man in the banking world and not even know who he was!"
I heard her giggle again, and suddenly she sounded like the old Star. "Yeah, I bet Electra's really jealous," I chuckled.
"I'm sure she is. She's probably on the phone to her PR people right now. It's hard to get one front page, let alone all of them. Oh, Cee . . ."
Star continued to laugh and in the end I joined her, because the whole situation was so crazy and ridiculous; I ended up clutching my sides while I had an attack of the "terrics," as we used to call it in our shared baby language.
Eventually, we both calmed down and I drew in some deep breaths before I could speak again.
"I really liked him," I wailed. "He was a genuinely nice guy."
"I could see from the picture that you did. It was in your eyes. You looked really happy. I love your hair, by the way, and that top you were wearing."
"Thanks, but none of it matters now because he hates me. He thinks I was the one who told the media where he was, because the photo was on my camera roll. The security guard had it developed for me and I even gave Ace a set as a leaving present. Like I was rubbing his nose in it or something."
"Oh, that's terrible, Cee. You must be devastated."
"Yeah, I am, but what can I do?"
"Tell him it wasn't you?"
"He'd never believe me. Really, Sia, he wasn't at all like the papers describe him."
"Do you think he did it?"
"Maybe, but something doesn't add up."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Mouse says he's convinced that Ace is just a fall guy. Someone else at the bank must have known what was going on."
"Right," I said, not knowing whether to be happy or sad that her boyfriend "Mouse" was on my side, given he'd played a big part in the trouble between me and Star in the first place.
"Look, if there's anything we can do this end to help, please call."
Her use of the word "we" grated on me further. "Thanks. I will."
"Keep safe, darling Cee. I love you."
"I love you too. Bye."
I ended the call, and having felt so much better when the two of us had been laughing like the old days, I now felt depressed by the fact that one word had reminded me how much had changed. Star had her Mouse, whose arms held her tightly every night. She had ended her journey into the past and begun her future, while I was nowhere near doing either.
At three o'clock on the dot, Chrissie arrived in reception. Despite the heat, she was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt, with a red bandana holding her curls back from her face.
"G'day, CeCe, ready to hit the frog—I mean, hit the road?"
I got on the back of her moped, and we set off. I recognized the airport as we drove parallel with the runway and then turned some sharp corners until we reached a dusty road that had tin-roofed shacks set back from the track. It wasn't a shantytown, but it was obvious that the people who lived inside the huts didn't have any spare cash to beautify their homes.
"This is it." Chrissie drew the bike to a halt and held it steady for me as I climbed off. "I'm warning you that my grandma might seem a bit weird to you, but I promise that she's not crazy. Ready?"
"Ready."
Chrissie led me up a path through what was technically a front garden but looked more like a sitting room. There was a worn brown sofa, various wooden chairs, and a lounger that had a pillow and a sheet on it, like someone had been sleeping there.
"Hi, Mimi," Chrissie called to a spot behind the sofa. As I followed her around it, I saw a tiny woman sitting cross-legged on the ground. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate and her face was crisscrossed with hundreds of lines. She was the oldest person I'd ever seen, yet around her forehead she wore a trendy bandana just like her granddaughter.
"Mimi, ngaji mingan? This is Celaeno, the girl I was telling you about," Chrissie said to her.
The old woman looked up at me and I saw her eyes were amazingly bright and clear, like a young girl had been put inside an ancient person's skin by mistake. They reminded me of two hazelnuts sitting in pools of white milk.
"Mijala juyu," she said, and I stood there awkwardly, having no idea what she'd just said. She patted the ground beside her and I sat down next to her, confused by the empty sofa and the chairs.
"Why is she sitting on the ground?" I asked Chrissie.
"Because she wants to feel the earth beneath her."
"Right."
I could feel the old woman's eyes still on me as if she were scanning my soul. She reached out a gnarled hand to stroke my cheek, her skin on mine feeling surprisingly soft. Then she pulled on one of my curls and smiled. I saw she had a big gap between her two front teeth.
"You knowum Dreamtime story of the Gumanyba?" she said in halting English.
"No . . ." I looked back at her blankly.
"She's talking about the Seven Sisters, Cee. That's what they're called in our language," Chrissie interpreted.
"Oh. Yeah, I do. My dad told me all about them."
"They our kantrimen, Celaeno."
"That means our relatives," Chrissie put in.
"We family, one people from same kantri."
"Right."
"I'll explain what she means another time," whispered Chrissie.
"All begin in the Dreamtime," the old lady began.
"What did?"
"The Seven Sisters story," said Chrissie. "She'll tell it to you now."
And, with Chrissie translating, I listened to the story.
Apparently, the Seven Sisters would fly down from their place in the sky and land on a high hill, which was hollow inside, like a cave. There was a secret passageway that led inside it, and it meant that the sisters could come and go between the heavens and the earth without being seen. While they were down here with us, they'd live in the cave. One day, when they were out hunting for food, an old man saw them, but they were too busy with their hunting and didn't notice him. He decided to follow them, because he wanted a young woman as his wife. When they rested by a creek, he jumped out and grabbed the youngest sister. The others ran back to their cave in a panic, then went along the secret passage and flew back up to the top of the hill and into the sky, leaving the poor youngest sister trying to escape from the old man.
When I heard this, I thought it was really mean of the others to leave her behind.
Anyway, the youngest sister did manage to escape and ran back to the cave. Realizing the rest had already flown away and knowing the old man was still chasing her, she too climbed up the secret passageway and flew off after the rest of her sisters. Apparently this was why the youngest sister—who I'd thought was called Merope, but the old woman called something else—couldn't often be seen, because she had lost her way back to her "country."
When the old woman had finished talking, she sank into a deep silence, her eyes still on me.
"What's really weird," I said to Chrissie eventually, "is that there are only six of us sisters, as Pa never brought home a seventh."
"In our culture, everything is a mirror of up there," Chrissie replied.
"I think the old man your granny talked about must be Orion, who Pa told us about in the Greek stories."
"Probably," she said. "There's a heap of legends about the sisters from different traditions, but this is ours."
How can these stories from all over the world be so similar? I thought suddenly. I mean, when they were originally told all those thousands of years ago, it wasn't like the Greeks could send an e-mail to the Aboriginal people, or the Mayans in Mexico could talk on the phone to the Japanese. Could there actually be a bigger link between heaven and earth than I'd thought? Maybe there was something mystical, as Tiggy would say, about us sisters being named after the famous ones in the sky, and the seventh being missing . . .
"Where you-um from?" the old woman asked me, and I switched back to reality.
"I don't know. I was adopted."
"You-um from here." She picked up what looked like a long pole with markings on it and banged it onto the hard dusty earth. "You kantrimen."
"Family," Chrissie reminded me, then turned to her granny. "I knew the second I saw her that a part of her was."
"Most important part: heart. Soul." The old woman thumped her chest, her hazelnut eyes full of warmth. She reached out her hand and squeezed mine with unexpected strength. "You come home. Belong here."
As she continued to hold my hand, I suddenly felt dizzy and on the verge of tears. Maybe Chrissie noticed, because she stood up and gently helped me to standing.
"We have to go now, Mimi, 'cause CeCe's got an appointment."
I nodded at Chrissie gratefully, holding on to her arm for support far more than I wanted to. "Yeah, I have. Thanks so much for telling me the story."
"Tellum you much more. Come back," the woman encouraged me.
"I will," I promised, thinking her accent was the strangest I'd ever heard—she said her few English words in a broad Australian way, but rounded them off with extra consonants, which softened them. "Bye."
"Galiya, Celaeno." She waved at me as Chrissie led me off along the garden/sitting room toward her moped.
"Wanna go grab a drink? There's a servo just around the corner."
"Yeah, that would be great," I replied, having no idea what a "servo" was, but not ready to get back on the wobbly moped just yet.
It turned out to be a petrol station with a small general store attached. We both bought a Coke and went to sit on a bench outside.
"Sorry about my grandma. She's really . . . intense."
"Don't be sorry. It was so interesting. It just made me feel odd, that's all. Hearing all about this"—I searched for the word—"culture that I might belong to. I knew very little about it before I came here."
"No need to feel bad. Why would you know, Cee? You were adopted and taken to Europe when you were a baby. Besides, the oldies want to make sure their stories are told, especially in our culture. It's all passed on by word of mouth, see? From generation to generation. Nothing's ever written down."
"You're saying that there's no . . . Bible, or Qur'an, with all the stories and rules and stuff written in it?"
"Nothing. In fact, we get really hacked off if people do write it down. It's all spoken, and painted a lot too. Cee." She glanced at my stunned expression. "You look really fazed, what's up?"
"It's just that, well . . ." I gulped, feeling everything was getting weirder by the second. "I'm really dyslexic, so I can't read properly even though I've had the best education my father could give me. The letters just jump around in front of my eyes, but I'm, well, an artist."
"You are?" It was Chrissie's turn to look stunned.
"Yeah."
"Then why didn't you tell me before? That's just ripper! 'Specially as you might be related to Namatjira!"
"I'm nothing special, Chrissie . . ."
"All artists are special. And don't worry, I'm more aural and visual as well. Maybe it's just in our genes."
"Maybe. Chrissie, can I ask you something?"
"Course you can, anything."
"I know I'm gonna sound like an idiot as usual, but is there . . . prejudice against the Aboriginal people in Australia?"
Chrissie turned her pretty face toward me and nodded slowly. "Too right, mate, but that's not for now, sitting outside a servo drinking a Coke. I mean, you talk to any whitefella and they'll tell you there isn't. At least they're not murdering us by the thousands and stealing our land—they stole that a couple of hundred years ago and still haven't given most of it back. Every January, the whitefellas celebrate 'Australia Day,' the day a fleet of British ships arrived to 'claim' our country. We call it 'Invasion Day,' 'cause it's the day that the genocide of our people began. We've been here for fifty thousand years, and they did their best to destroy us and our way of life. Anyway," she added with a shrug, "it's old news, but I'll tell you more another time."
"Okay," I said. I didn't want to ask what "genocide" meant, but it sounded really bad.
"Does it freak you out?" she asked me after a pause. "Like, realizing that you're one of us, or that part of you is, anyway?"
"No. I've always been different. An outsider, you know?"
"I do." She put a warm hand on my arm. "Right, let's get you back to your hotel."
After Chrissie had dropped me off and told me to call if I needed anything, I went into my room and fell onto the bed. For the first time I could ever remember, I went to sleep immediately where I lay.
When I woke up, I cracked open one eye to look at the time on my mobile. It was past eight o'clock in the evening, which meant that I'd slept for three hours straight. Maybe the info overload of the past two days had had the same effect as a sleeping pill: My brain knew I couldn't cope, so it switched me off. Or maybe, just maybe . . . it was some kind of deep relief that already, by gathering the guts to come here, I was finding out who I really was.
You come home . . .
Even if I believed I had, did I want to be labeled by what had been my gene pool but no part of my upbringing? I stood up and went for a pee, then looked at my flat nose in the mirror, and knew it was the nose of both the old woman and my new friend Chrissie. They certainly had a deep sense of themselves and pride in their culture, and maybe that was what I needed: some pride. I might not have belonged to Star anymore—I'd learned the hard way that you could never own anyone. But just maybe, I could belong to both myself and a culture that defined me.
In the wider world, I was a loser, but today, sitting with Chrissie and her granny, they had seen my heritage as a strength. In other words, I had people in my corner who understood, because they were like me too. My . . . kantrimen. Family.
I went back to the bedroom feeling energized. I decided I'd call Chrissie and see if she could tell me more about Aboriginal culture. When I picked up my mobile, I saw I had twelve new text messages and several voice mails.
The first two texts were from Star:
So great to speak and laugh last night. You know where I am if you need me. Love you, S xxx
Me again, more newspapers called! DON'T ANSWER YOUR PHONE!!
Then . . .
This is a message for CeCe D'Aplièse. Hi. My name's Katie Coombe. I'm a journalist at the Daily Mail. I'd like to interview you about your relationship with Anand Changrok. Call me on my mobile anytime to give your side of the story.
And another . . .
This is a text for CeCe D'Aplièse from the BBC1 news desk in London. We'd like to talk to you about Anand Changrok. Please call Matt at the number below. Thanks.
And another . . .
Hi, is this CeCe's mobile number? I'm Angie from the News of the World. Let's talk terms for a full interview with you.
And so on, and so on . . .
"Shit!" The journos were obviously on my tail. With Ace locked up and under police and court protection, there was nothing they could get from him, so they were coming to me. For one moment, I considered calling Wormwood Scrubs to ask if I could speak to Ace and ask him if there was anything he wanted me to say to the media on his behalf.
Stop being an idiot, Cee, I told myself. He wouldn't trust you to get him a mango shake from a beach café . . .
Linda knows the truth, he'd said to me once.
So, who was Linda? A girlfriend? Or maybe a wife, although in the papers, there hadn't been any mention of his having a partner. Apart from me, of course, but as one of the tabloids had called me his "girlfriend du jour," they were obviously labeling me as one of a heap that had gone before.
Still, some gut instinct told me I should be doing something for him. After all, he'd helped me when I'd needed it. The question was, what? And how?
There was one thing I could do . . .
I pulled the SIM card from my mobile, then checked on the handset address book that all the numbers I needed were stored there. I took the SIM card to the toilet, wrapped it in a piece of toilet paper, and threw it into the bowl. Then I flushed it, hard. Feeling satisfied that no one could trace me now, I left the room, walked down the road to a corner shop, and bought a local SIM card. I texted Star and Ma with the new number. My mobile rang thirty seconds later.
"Hi, Sia," I said.
"I was just checking it was working."
"It is, but it's pay-as-you-go and the lady in the shop says I have to pay for calls coming in from abroad, so I've probably got about thirty seconds left on my twenty dollars."
"It was a good idea to bin your SIM card. I've had another load of calls today. Mouse said that if they're clever, they can probably trace you through the airline record too, so—"
Star was abruptly cut off and I saw a text banner appear across the top of my phone telling me my credit had run out.
"This is getting ridiculous," I groaned as I walked back down the street to the hotel. I wasn't James Bond, or even Pussy Galore, or whatever she'd been called.
"Hi, Miss D'Aplièse," the receptionist greeted me. "Have you decided how much longer you'll be staying yet?"
"No."
"Well, just let me know when you have." I noticed the receptionist studying me intensely. "You haven't stayed here before, have you? Your face looks familiar."
"No, never," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thanks, bye," I said, and plodded back upstairs to my room.
The frogs were still giving their evening chorus beyond my open window. I switched on the overhead light in my room and saw the CD player sitting on the nightstand, reminding me that I should listen to some more of Kitty's story, as I needed distraction. I lay down on the bed, loaded new batteries into the machine, and stuck in the second disc. Putting on my headphones, I lay back, pressed "play," and closed my eyes to find out what happened to Kitty Mercer next.
## KITTY
Broome, Western Australia
October 1907
## 14
Kitty stirred as Andrew kissed her on the forehead.
"I'm off down to the quay," he said. "A lugger is due in the next hour or so, and I want to look at the haul and make sure that none of those damned Koepangers have any pearls hidden about their sly and devious persons. Rest well today, won't you, my dear?"
"I will." Kitty looked at her husband, dressed as always in his smart pearling master's uniform: a gleaming white suit with a mandarin collar and mother-of-pearl buttons, topped with a white pith helmet. She knew that when he returned home for lunch, the suit would inevitably be covered in red dust and he would have to change before he went out again. Here in Broome it was constantly laundry day, but rather than having to sweat over pots of hot water herself, the suits were folded up by her maid and sent off to Singapore to be laundered when the biweekly steamer next returned.
It was only one of the many eccentricities in Broome that she had quickly been forced to accept now that she was no longer a minister's daughter, but the wife of a wealthy pearling master.
She had boarded the coastal steamer Paroo in Fremantle with Andrew soon after their marriage and after some rough days at sea, the shoreline had finally emerged in the distance. Kitty had seen a flat, yellow beach and a collection of tin-roofed houses tightly packed together. The ship had moored at a jetty almost a mile long, the dark brown water lapping up its wooden supports. Dense mangrove forest hugged the shore, behind which was a row of corrugated-iron sheds. The infamous pearling luggers sat forefront in the bay, their masts clustered together against the broad, bright blue sky.
Having left the ship, she and Andrew had been driven by pony and trap through the tiny enclave of the town and Kitty had been less than encouraged. With the arrival of the steamships and luggers came a raucous influx of people filling the bars and hotels along Dampier Terrace—the town's main street—with piano music, rough voices, and cigar smoke. Kitty had been reminded of the Wild West of America that she had read about. It was as hot as she could possibly imagine, and the smell of unwashed bodies permeated the humid, windless air.
The tin-roofed bungalow, which her father-in-law had built without any thought other than providing a temporary roof over his and Edith's heads while he established his pearling business, had been less than enticing. Andrew had promised to provide Kitty with a more comfortable home, and building works had been completed only a couple of months ago.
Seven months after her arrival, Kitty was slowly becoming accustomed to this strange, isolated town, hemmed in on one side by the sea, and the vast red desert on the other. The few houses along the dusty and often flooded Robinson Street, where the wealthy white population mostly resided, stood only a few minutes from the overcrowded shantytown. Broome had not one elegant or gracious bone in its vibrant multicultural mix, yet it was the epicenter of the world's pearling industry. If she was driven into town by Fred, her Aboriginal groom, she would encounter a mishmash of different races who had come off the day's ships and were looking for ways to find entertainment. Money flowed like water here, and there were plenty of establishments that were happy to lap it up. Yamasaki and Mise stocked a selection of wonderful Japanese treasures, as well as soft silks that could be transformed into beautiful ball gowns to be flaunted by the pearling masters' wives during the ball season.
Kitty struggled upright in bed, her back aching from the weight of her engorged belly, and only thanked the Lord that the baby would be here in less than three months. Dr. Blick, whom Kitty had watched drink the whiskey bottle dry when she had met him at various social engagements, had assured her of the best of care when the time came. After all, Andrew—or, at least, his father—owned the largest pearling business in Broome, with a fleet of thirty-six luggers that carried hundreds of tons of shell into harbor each year.
When she'd first arrived, the phrases that Andrew often used, such as "luggers," "lay-ups," and "shell grades," had all been foreign to her, but as he spoke of little else when they were having dinner together in the evenings, her mind had slowly assimilated the workings of the business.
The Mercer Pearling Company had endured a difficult start to the season, when a lugger and all the crew upon it had been lost to a cyclone. She had quickly learned that out here, human life was fragile and eminently replaceable. It was a fact she was still struggling to come to terms with. The cruelty and harshness of life in Broome—especially the treatment of the local Aboriginal population—was something she knew she could never fully accept.
She had been horrified the first time she had seen a group of Aboriginal men in chains, shackled together at their necks and overseen by a guard with a rifle as they cleared debris from a house that had recently been destroyed by a cyclone. Andrew had pulled her away as she had begun to weep in horror.
"You don't understand the ways of Broome yet, my dear," Andrew had comforted her. "It is for their own good. In this way, they can be productive to society."
"In chains?" Kitty had been shaking with latent fury. "Denied their freedom?"
"It is a humane method. They can still walk a good way in them. Please, darling, calm down."
Kitty had listened helplessly as Andrew had explained that those in charge believed that the "blacks" would run back to the desert the minute they had the chance. So they chained them to each other, and attached them to a tree overnight.
"It is cruel, Andrew. Can you not see that?"
"At least if they work, they are given tobacco or sacks of flour to take home to their families."
"Yet not a living wage?" she'd entreated him.
"That isn't what they need, my dear. These people would sell their own wives and children at the drop of a hat. They are like wild animals, and sadly, they have to be treated as such."
After weeks of dispute between them on the subject, Kitty and Andrew had simply agreed to disagree. She was convinced that, with kindness and understanding and some respect for the fact that these people had been in Australia for far longer than the white settlers, some more gentle accord could surely be reached. Andrew assured her it had been tried before and had failed miserably.
Yet the knowledge that this inequality was wrong gnawed away at her conscience. She had even had to ask for special dispensation from the police constable to keep Fred on the premises at night, as he would otherwise be rounded up with the rest and herded back to a camp outside of town, away from his white "masters."
That situation, plus the sickeningly regular loss of life in the overcrowded shantytown and upon the ocean, was the price every person in Broome had to pay for the far-higher-than-average wages. And, for a scant few, there was the ultimate prize: that of finding the perfect pearl.
Naively, Kitty had presumed that every shell would contain one, but she had been wrong. The industry mainly survived on the mother-of-pearl linings. Hidden inside the ugly mottled brown shells that blended into the seabed was a lustrous material that sold by the ton around the world, to be used as decoration for combs, boxes, and buttons.
Only rarely would a triumphant captain present the pearl box to the pearling master with a rattle. And inside the box—which could not be opened once the pearl had been dropped inside it, as only the pearling master himself held the key—there would be a treasure of possibly huge value. Kitty knew that Andrew dreamed every night of finding the most magnificent pearl which would make him not only rich, but famous too. A pearl that would establish him—rather than his father—as the chief pearling master of Broome. And, therefore, the world.
There had been a number of occasions when he had arrived home with a pearl the size of a large marble, his eyes shining with excitement as he had shown her the often oddly shaped jewel. Then it had been off to T. B. Ellies's shop on Carnarvon Street to see if Andrew's find was good. T. B. was renowned as the most skilled pearl skinner in the world.
Like diamonds, pearls had to be crafted and polished to reveal their true beauty. Kitty had been intrigued when she'd learned that pearls were made up of thin layers, like those of an onion. T. B.'s skill lay in his ability to file away each imperfect layer without damaging the sheen on the one below it. She had watched T. B. hold a pearl to the light, as if his keen brown eyes could look through to its very core. His sensitive fingers then felt for minuscule ridges as he used his files and knives to erase them, squinting through his jeweler's eyeglass.
"It is merely oyster spit," he had said matter-of-factly as Kitty had watched him work. "The animal feels an irritation—a grain of sand perhaps—and builds up layers of spit around it to cushion itself. And behold, the most beautiful mineral is created. But sometimes . . ." Here he had frowned before shaving away another sliver. "Sometimes the layers protect nothing but a pocket of mud." He'd held up the pearl for Kitty and Andrew to see, and indeed, a small spot of brown was seeping out of a hole. Andrew had barely withheld a groan as T. B. continued working. "A blister pearl. Shame. Will make a nice hat pin, perhaps." The corner of his mouth lifted into a wry smile under his mustache as he resumed his work.
Kitty privately wondered if the quiet Singalese man knew that he wielded more power than anyone in Broome. He was the dream-maker—in his unassuming wood-fronted shop, he could carefully skin fine layers of pearl to reveal a majestic life-changing jewel, or turn hope to a pile of pearl dust on his workbench.
Broome was a unique and intense microuniverse all of its own, one that encompassed every soul that lived there. And Kitty herself was now another cog in the machine, playing the role of a dutiful pearling master's wife.
"One day, my dear," Andrew had said as he held her in his arms after another disappointment in T. B.'s shop, "I will bring you the most magnificent pearl. And you will wear it for all to see."
Kitty fingered the rope of small delicate pearls Andrew had chosen and had strung together for her. Apart from his obsession with finding such a special treasure, nothing was too much trouble to please her; Kitty had learned not to voice her dreams, otherwise Andrew would go to the greatest lengths to fulfill them. He had filled the house with beautiful antique furniture bought from the boats that docked in Broome from all over Asia. She had once expressed a love of roses, and a week later, he had taken her hand and led her to the veranda to show her the rosebushes that had been planted around it before she woke.
On their wedding night, he had been gentle and courteous with her. While the act itself was something that Kitty subjugated herself to rather than actively enjoyed, it had certainly not been unbearable. Andrew had perhaps been more thrilled than she the moment she'd announced her pregnancy to him five months ago, when the child had been little more than the size of a pearl inside her. Andrew had already told her how his "son" would follow in his father's footsteps to Immanuel College in Adelaide, and then on to the university there. A week later, Kitty had taken delivery of a beautifully carved mahogany bassinet and countless toys.
"What a dichotomy Broome is," she sighed as she heaved herself from the bed and reached for her silk robe. Ninety-nine percent of the town lived in appalling conditions, yet anything the richer residents wished for could be delivered to this tiny isolated outpost in the space of a few weeks.
Kitty picked up and shook out her house slippers thoroughly, having learned that spiders and cockroaches liked to hide in their cozy interiors. She threw them down on the floor and squeezed her swollen feet inside them. Used to being active, as her belly grew she'd refused to confine herself to the house, knowing she would go mad with boredom if she did so.
Over breakfast, she made a list of all the things she needed to buy in town. Before her pregnancy, she would always walk the ten minutes to Dampier Terrace and its array of stores, which sold everything from caviar brought in from Russia to succulent beef freshly slaughtered at the Hylands Star butchery. They ate well and plentifully, with a choice and quality far superior to what was available in Leith. Tarik, their Malay cook, had introduced her to curries, which, to her surprise, Kitty had found wonderfully tasty.
After pinning on her sunbonnet, she picked up her basket and parasol, then walked around the side of the house to the stables, where Fred lay sleeping on the straw. She clapped her hands and he was alert and upright within seconds. He smiled at her, one of his front teeth missing, which Kitty had learned was common in Aboriginal males and had something to do with a ritual.
"Town?" She pointed toward it, as Fred's grasp of English was basic at best. He spoke the language of the Yawuru tribe that was indigenous to Broome.
"Go alonga town," he agreed as Kitty watched him hitch the pony to the cart, relieved that he was actually here. Fred was apt to disappear to, as he put it, "go walkabout, Missus Boss." As with the missing tooth, Kitty had learned that most Aboriginals did this, disappearing for weeks into the untamed and dangerous hinterland beyond the town. Initially she had been horrified when she had realized that Fred slept on a pallet of straw in the stables.
"Darling, the blacks don't want to live inside. Even if we built him a shelter, he'd sleep outside it. The moon and the stars are the roof over the Aboriginal's head."
Nevertheless, Kitty had felt uncomfortable about the arrangement and while their own house was being renovated, she had insisted Andrew build some basic accommodation with washing facilities, a bed, and a small kitchen area which Fred could use as he chose. So far, Fred had not chosen to avail himself of the facilities. Even though she made sure his uniform was freshly laundered, she could still smell him at a few paces.
Kitty accepted Fred's help to climb up onto the cart and sat next to him, enjoying the slight breeze on her face as the pony clopped along into town. She only wished she could speak with Fred, understand him and the ways of his people, but even though she had tried to help him improve his English, Fred remained distinctly uninterested.
Once they had reached Dampier Terrace, Kitty raised her hand and said, "Stop!" Fred helped her climb down.
"I stayum here?"
"Yes." Kitty gave him a smile and walked off in the direction of the butcher's.
Having completed her shopping for supper that night, then stopped to chat with Mrs. Norman, the wife of another pearling master, she emerged into the bright sunlight. Feeling rather faint in the cloying heat, she turned up a narrow alley that offered comparative shade as she fanned herself. She was just about to walk back to the pony and cart when she heard a low keening coming from the opposite side of the alley.
Walking toward a pile of discarded rubbish, thinking that perhaps it was shrouding an injured animal, she removed a stinking crate and saw a human curled up into a ball behind it. The skin color told her it was an Aboriginal, and the outline of the figure said it was female.
"Hello?"
There was no response, so Kitty bent down and reached out a hand to touch the ebony skin. The human ball flinched and unraveled itself to reveal a young woman staring at her with terror in her eyes.
"I do-a nothing wrong, missus . . ."
The girl shrank farther back into the pile of stinking rubbish. As she did so, Kitty noticed the large bulge of her stomach.
"I know. I'm not here to hurt you. Do you speak English?"
"Yessum, missus. Speaka bit."
"What has happened to you? I can see that we're in the same . . . condition." Kitty indicated her own bump.
"You an' me have baby, but best I die. Will go away. Life here no-a good for us, missus."
With great effort, Kitty knelt down. "Don't be afraid. I want to help you." She risked reaching out a hand again to touch the girl and this time, she didn't flinch. "Where are you from?"
"Come-a from big house. Big fella boss, he saw"—the girl patted her stomach—"no home for me no more."
"Well now, you are to stay here. I have a pony and cart along the road. I will take you to my home to help you. Do you understand?"
"Leavum me, missus. Me bad news."
"No. I am taking you to my home. I have somewhere you can stay. You are not in danger."
"Best I die," the girl repeated, as tears squeezed out of her closed eyes.
Kitty raised herself to standing, wondering what on earth she could do to persuade the girl she spoke true. She unclipped the pearl necklace that nestled at her throat, then bent down and put it into the girl's hands, thinking that if she was a "bad un," the girl would be long gone by the time she returned, but if not . . .
"Look after this for me while I go and get the cart. I trust you, as you must trust me."
Kitty walked at pace to find Fred and have him move the cart to the entrance of the narrow alley. She indicated that he should climb down and follow her. To her relief, the girl was still there, sitting upright with the string of pearls clasped tightly in her hands.
"Now then, Fred, can you help this girl into the cart?" Kitty both spoke and mimed the words.
Fred looked at his mistress in disbelief. She watched as he eyed the girl and she eyed him back.
"Do as I say, Fred, please!"
There then began a conversation in Yawuru, as Fred took it upon himself to grill the girl who was sitting in the rubbish and holding Missus Boss's pearls. At times it became quite heated, but in the end Fred nodded.
"She okay, Missus Boss."
"Then hurry up and help her into the cart."
Fred tentatively reached out his hand, but the girl refused it. Slowly and proudly she staggered to her feet by herself.
"I do-a the walkin'," she said as she passed Kitty, her head held high.
"Where puttum her?" Fred asked.
"It's best if she lies in the back, and we put the tarpaulin over her."
Once Kitty had organized this arrangement, Fred helped her to climb onto the front of the cart with him.
"Now then, take us home, Fred."
When they arrived, Kitty fetched clean sheets for the hut that Fred never used and helped the girl—who by this time could hardly stand—onto the mattress. Fetching some witch hazel, she bathed a swelling around the girl's eye, spotting more bruises on her cheek and her chin as she did so.
Leaving a pitcher of water beside the bed, Kitty smiled down at her.
"Sleep now. You're safe here," she enunciated.
"No one come-a beat me?"
"No one." Kitty showed her the big iron key in the lock. "I go out," she said, gesticulating, "then you lock the door. You are safe. Understand?"
"Yessum, understand."
"I will bring you some soup later," she said as she opened the door.
"Why-a you so kind, missus?"
"Because you are a human being. Sleep now." Kitty closed the door gently behind her.
That evening, having given Camira—for that was what the girl had said her name was—some broth, Kitty had opened a good bottle of red wine to accompany Andrew's supper. Once he had drunk two large glasses, she broached the subject of the young girl currently residing in their hut.
"She told me she was a maid at a house on Herbert Street. When her condition became obvious, they threw her out. She was also very badly beaten."
"Do you know who her master is?" asked Andrew.
"No, she wouldn't tell me."
"I'm not surprised," he said, taking another slug of his wine. "She damn well knows we could go to him and find out the real story."
"Andrew, I believe she is telling us the real story. No one wants a pregnant maid. The chances are, she was raped." Kitty said the word without a second thought. Such incidents here in Broome were commonplace, with drunken sailors hungry for "black velvet," as Aboriginal women were termed.
"You can't know that."
"No, I can't, but I can tell you that the girl told me she'd been educated at the Christian mission in Beagle Bay and she can speak relatively good English. She is certainly no whore."
Andrew sat back in his chair and looked at her in disbelief. "Are we to house and feed a pregnant Aboriginal girl on our property? Good God! When we are out she could creep into the house and steal everything we own!"
"And if she does, we have the money to replace it. Besides, I don't believe she will. Andrew, for God's sake, the girl is pregnant! She is expecting new life. Was I, as a Christian woman, meant to leave her there in the gutter?"
"No, of course not, but you must understand that—"
"I have been here now for seven months, and there is nothing about this town that I don't understand. Please, Andrew, you must trust me. I do not believe the girl will steal from us, and if she does, I take full responsibility for it. She is almost certainly nearer to her time than I. Shall we have the death of two souls on our conscience?"
"And I can tell you that the minute she has given birth, she'll be on her way."
"Andrew, please." Kitty put her fingers to her brow. "I understand your reticence, but I also know how easy it is in a place like this to become hardened to the plight of others. Imagine if I were in her shoes . . ."
"All right," he said eventually, nodding. "Your condition has made you vulnerable to seeing others less fortunate than yourself in the same position. She can stay, at least for the night," he added.
"Thank you! Thank you, my darling." Kitty rose and went to him, placing her arms about his shoulders.
"But don't say I didn't warn you. She'll be gone tomorrow with everything she can carry," he said, always needing to have the last word.
The following morning, Kitty knocked on the door of the hut and found Camira pacing the room like a claustrophobic dingo.
"Good morning, I have brought you some breakfast."
"You keepa me here?" Camira pointed at the door.
"No, I told you that the key is in the lock. You are free to leave whenever you wish."
The girl stared at her, studying her expression.
"I free-a go now?"
"Yes, if you wish." Kitty opened the door wide and used her hand to indicate the path.
Silently, Camira walked through it. Kitty watched as she hesitated on the threshold, looking left and right, and at Fred, who was chewing tobacco as he made an attempt at grooming the pony. She stepped outside and walked tentatively across the red earth, her senses alert for sudden attack. When none came, she continued, walking toward the drive that led onto the road. Kitty left the hut and made her way back into the house.
Watching from the drawing room window, she saw Camira's small figure recede into the distance. A sigh escaped her as she realized that Andrew had probably been right. Her baby kicked suddenly inside her, and she walked into the drawing room to sit down. The heat today was oppressive.
An hour passed, but just as she was about to give up hope, she saw Camira walking toward the house, then hesitating for a second before making her way back up the drive. After waiting for another ten minutes, Kitty walked over to the hut, taking with her a glass of cool lemonade that Tarik had just made, with ice shaved from the newly delivered block.
The door to the hut was ajar, but still, she knocked on it.
Camira opened it and Kitty noticed that everything on the breakfast tray she'd taken in earlier had been eaten.
"I brought you this. It's full of goodness for the baby."
"Thank you, missus." Camira took the lemonade from Kitty and sipped it tentatively, as if it might be poisoned. Then she drank the lot down in one. "No keepa me prisoner?"
"Of course not," Kitty said briskly. "I want to help you."
"Why you wanta help me, missus? No whitefellas wanta."
"Because . . ." Kitty searched for the simplest answer. "We are both the same." She indicated her stomach. "How long were you at the mission?"
"Ten years. Teacha fella say I good student." A small expression of pride passed through Camira's dark eyes. "I knowa German too."
"Do you now? My husband speaks it, but I do not."
"Whattum you want, missus?"
Kitty was about to say "nothing," but then realized that Camira currently could not grasp the concept of kindness from a "whitefella."
"Well, for a start, if you stay here, perhaps you could teach Fred some English."
Camira wrinkled her nose. "He-a smell. No wash."
"Maybe you can teach him to do that too."
"Me be-a teacha, boss?"
"Yes. And also"—Kitty thought on her feet—"I am looking for a nursemaid to help when the baby comes."
"I knowa 'bout babies. I takem care in mission."
"That's settled then. You stay here"—she indicated the hut—"and we give you food in return for help."
Camira's serious face studied Kitty's. "No locka the door."
"No locka the door. Here." Kitty handed her the key. "Deal?"
Finally, a glimmer of a smile came to Camira's face. "Deal."
"So, did your little black bolt off with everything she could steal when your back was turned?" asked Andrew when he returned for lunch.
"No, she went for a walk and then came back. Can you believe that she speaks some German, as well as English? And she has been brought up a Christian."
"I doubt it goes any farther than skin-deep. So what will you do with her?"
"She tells me she took care of the babies brought to the mission. I have suggested that in return for helping me with the new baby and teaching Fred some basic English, she can stay in the hut."
"But, Kitty, my dear, the girl is pregnant! Chances are, it's a white man's child. And you know the rules on half castes."
"Andrew!" Kitty slammed her knife and fork onto her plate. "Camira can be no older than me! What would you have me do with her? Toss her back out into the rubbish where I found her? And as for the rules . . . they are cruel and barbaric. Tearing a mother away from her baby . . ."
"It's for their own protection, darling. The government is doing their best to make sure these children do not die in the gutter. They wish to round them up and teach them Christian ways."
"I cannot begin to imagine how I would feel if our child was physically snatched from my grasp." Kitty was shaking now. "And why, when we can at least help one of them, would we refuse to do so? It is nothing less than our Christian duty. Excuse me, I find myself . . . unwell." Kitty rose, then walked to the bedroom and lay down, her heart pounding.
She knew all about the rules for half-caste children, had seen the henchmen of the local Protectorate doing the rounds of Broome in a cart, seeking out any baby or child whose lighter skin would give the game away immediately. Then she'd hear the sound of keening mothers as the babies and children were dumped on the cart to be taken away to a mission orphanage, where their Aboriginal heritage would be drummed out of them, and replaced by a God who apparently believed it was better to have Him than to grow up with a mother's love.
Some minutes later, there was a knock at the door and Andrew walked in. He came to sit beside her on the bed and took her hand.
"How are you feeling?"
"I am a little faint, that is all. It is very close today."
Andrew took a muslin cloth from the pile on the nightstand and dipped it in the pitcher of water. He folded it across her brow. "You are nearing your time too, darling. If it pleases you to help a mother in similar circumstances, then who am I to deny you? She can stay, at least until she has had the child. Then we shall . . . take a view."
Kitty knew he meant "see what color the baby is," but this was no time to be churlish.
"Thank you, my darling. You are so kind to me."
"No, you are the one who is kind. I've been in Broome for too long. And perhaps I have become inured to the suffering around us. It takes a fresh pair of eyes to see it anew. However, I have a position and a reputation to uphold. I—and you—cannot be seen to flout the law. Do you understand, Kitty?"
"I do."
"So, when do I meet your little black?"
Kitty gritted her teeth at his words. "Her name is Camira. I shall have a couple of dresses made up for her. She has only the clothes she stands up in, and they are filthy."
"I'd burn them if I were you. God knows where they've been, but we shall no doubt find out soon enough anyway. If she was working as a maid, we will know her former employers. Now." Andrew kissed her gently on the forehead and stood up. "I must go into town. I have an appointment with T. B. The Edith has brought in a particularly good haul and there are a couple of pearls I want him to skin. One of them may be very special." Andrew's eyes glinted with pleasure and avarice.
Do we not have enough already? Kitty thought with a sigh as Andrew left the room.
She knew the real god in this town—and his name was Money.
## 15
In January, as the barometer on the drawing room wall plummeted, indicating the start of the wet season, Kitty woke up with sweat dripping from her brow. She was due any day and she prayed to the Lord it would happen soon. The humidity hung like a soupy, airless blanket and she dug deep to breathe. Too exhausted to rise, she lay there wishing for both a storm and her water to break. She rang the bell to indicate to the kitchen that she wanted breakfast. These past few days she had been in bed, unable to countenance the thought of putting on her corset—albeit one specially made for her condition—plus the numerous petticoats, plus a dress on top of that. It was easier to lie here in her nightgown, her belly unrestricted and her skin comparatively cool.
Her thoughts turned again to Camira, and Kitty bit her lip hard in frustration. It had all been going so well; even Andrew had said what a bright little thing she was after he'd asked her a few questions in German. Since the "deal" had been wrought between the two women, and as Camira had realized she would be neither locked up nor taken away in the night to the local prison for misdemeanors unknown, she had proved herself willing and eager to help in any way she could. Whoever had formerly employed her had taught her well. Soon she was busy about the house, tutting at what she obviously thought was the tardiness of the maid, a sloe-eyed Singalese girl called Medha, who spent more time looking at her face in the mirror than actually cleaning it.
Kitty concealed her amusement as Camira took control, issuing orders for the floors to be swept at least three times a day to remove the interminable dust, and scrubbed every other. The mahogany furniture gleamed from layers of beeswax, and the cobwebs that had ingratiated themselves into high corners were swept away along with their inhabitants. As Camira bobbed about the drawing room as lightly as a butterfly, Kitty watched from her writing bureau, where she could hardly raise the energy to pick up her fountain pen. Even though Camira was almost certainly farther on in her pregnancy than she, it did not seem to affect her.
Ten days ago, Kitty had even discussed with Andrew the idea of getting rid of Medha and having Camira take over.
"Let's just wait and see what happens after her baby is born. No point in doing anything hasty. If she ups and leaves, we're high and dry at a moment when you will need all the help you can get."
And then the following day, as if Camira had heard Andrew's words, Kitty had gone to the hut and found it deserted.
"Fred, where is Camira?" she'd asked him as she stepped outside.
"She gone."
"Did she say where?"
"No, Missus Boss. Gone," Fred had informed her.
"I did warn you, darling. These blacks just don't play by the same set of rules as we do," Andrew had said later. "Good job we didn't sack Medha."
Kitty had felt intense irritation at Andrew's obvious satisfaction that he'd been right all along. Every day since Camira's disappearance, Kitty had gone to the hut and found it as deserted as the day before. And given the fact she had promised Andrew not to advertise Camira's presence in their home, Kitty could not ask around the town to find out if anyone had seen her.
"She go walkabout, missus," was all Fred would say.
Apart from her anger that Camira had left without so much as a by-your-leave, especially after her kindness to the girl, Kitty missed her. She had discovered that Camira had a very good grasp of English and a wicked sense of humor. She had found herself chuckling over small things for the first time since she had arrived in Broome, and had almost felt that Camira—despite their vast cultural differences—was a kindred spirit. As Kitty's time had drawn nearer, she had felt comforted by the girl's calm, capable manner.
"Don' ya be worryin', Missus Boss, I singa your baby into the world, no problem."
And Kitty had believed her, and had relaxed and smiled until even Andrew had noticed the difference and been glad that Camira was there.
A tear dribbled out of one of Kitty's eyes. She would not make the same mistake again.
There was a short knock on the door. Kitty roused herself into a sitting position as it opened.
"Mornin', Missus Boss, I bringa you breakfast. Medha, she still sleepin' on the job."
Kitty watched in total shock as Camira—a newly slim Camira—dressed immaculately in her white uniform, with a headband holding back her glossy raven curls, danced toward her with the tray. "Tarik tellum me you bin naughty girl an' not eatin' your food good. I make-a you egg and bringa you milk for baby," she chirped as she placed the breakfast tray across Kitty's thighs.
"Where . . . ?" Kitty swallowed, trying to find the words. "Where have you been?"
"I go walkabout, havem baby." She shrugged as though she'd just been down to the bakery to buy a loaf of bread. "She come good an' easy. Women sayum she pretty an' healthy. Eat a lot, though." Camira rolled her eyes and indicated her breasts. "No sleepa for me."
"Why on earth didn't you tell me where you were going, Camira?" Anger was beginning to replace relief at the sight of her. "I've been worried sick!"
"No worry, Missus Boss. Easy. She poppum out like snail from shell!"
"That is not what I meant, Camira. Although of course I am happy that you and your baby are well and healthy."
"You come alonga hut after breakfast and I showa baby to you. Me helpum you eat?" Camira proffered the spoon after she'd expertly sliced the top off the boiled egg with a knife.
"No, thank you. I'm quite capable of feeding myself."
As Kitty ate the egg, Camira bustled around the room, putting things straight and complaining about the layer of red dust that had gathered on the floor since she was last there. Kitty realized that she would probably never know where the girl had gone. She felt only relief that Camira's labor was over and envied her incredible recovery from it.
Later that morning Kitty followed Camira to the hut, where the girl carefully unlocked the door. There on the floor, in a drawer that Camira had taken out of the chest, was a tiny infant, squalling with all its might.
"Tolda you she a hungry one," said Camira as she plucked the child up, sat down on the bed, and promptly undid the loops that held the buttons on the front of her blouse. Kitty saw the huge engorged breast, the nipple now dripping with milky fluid as Camira arranged the baby upon it. The squawking stopped instantly as the baby suckled, and Kitty's eyes were glued to the process. She had never seen another woman's breasts—her own baby would be bottle-fed by a nurse as breastfeeding was considered only for savages. And yet, as Kitty watched mother and baby joined in such a natural ritual, she decided it had a beauty all of its own.
When the baby's lips finally released the nipple and its head lolled back against Camira's chest, the girl swiftly arranged it over her shoulder and began to rub its back vigorously. The baby burped and Camira gave a nod of approval.
"Holdum her?" She proffered the baby toward Kitty.
"It's a little girl, you said?"
"Her name is Alkina—it meanum 'moon.' "
Kitty took the naked baby in her arms and caressed the soft, perfect skin. There was no doubt that, in comparison to her mother, Alkina was of a lighter hue. The baby suddenly opened its eyes and stared right at her.
"Goodness! They are . . ."
"Women saya yella," said Camira as she fastened up her blouse. "From a yella man in Japtown. He bad fella."
Kitty stared down at the telltale signs of a heritage that had blessed this baby girl with the most gorgeous pair of eyes she had ever seen. They were an arresting amber shade that was almost gold, and their almond shape made them appear even larger in the tiny face.
"Welcome to the world, Alkina, and God bless you," Kitty whispered into a miniature ear.
Perhaps it was her fancy, but the baby seemed to smile at her words. Then she closed her incredible eyes and slept peacefully in Kitty's arms.
"She is beautiful, Camira," Kitty breathed eventually. "Her eyes remind me of a cat."
"Women saya that too. So I callum 'Cat' as nickname," she giggled as she gently took the child from Kitty and tucked a piece of cloth around its bottom before tying it at both sides.
Someone once called me that too . . . , Kitty thought. Placing the baby back in her makeshift cradle, Camira brushed her daughter's forehead and whispered some unintelligible words against her skin. Then her eyes darkened and she put a finger to her lips. "Cat secret, yessum? Or bad baby fellas come take her. You understand?"
"I promise, Camira, Cat will be safe here with us. I will tell Fred to guard her when you are working in the house."
"He still smellum bad, but Fred good fella."
"Yes, Fred's a good fella," Kitty agreed.
Two weeks later, still no storm had broken and no baby of her own had appeared to ease Kitty's mounting discomfort. Andrew was not helping matters by sulking about the two pearls he'd entrusted to T. B. Ellies's skilled hands, only to watch them be whittled away to dust in front of him.
"It's simply not fair. Father is always asking me why the luggers never discover the treasures he used to when he was commanding them. Good grief, Kitty, when he first came to Broome, one could walk along Cable Beach and pluck them up by hand in the shallows! Does he not understand that the entire world has moved here since and is fishing for them? We are pushing into deeper and more dangerous waters every day. We lost another diver only last week due to the bends."
Kitty now knew the condition and the symptoms as thoroughly as she knew the common cold. She had been intrigued to catch a glimpse of a diver for the first time, a young Japanese man who was being fitted into a new diving suit that Andrew had ordered from England. The slight man had climbed into the enormous beige canvas suit and a heavy spherical bronze helmet had been lowered over his head and screwed on tightly at his collar. His feet were weighed down by leaden boots and his crewmates supported him as they checked that the airflow through the slim pipe was working correctly.
She'd shuddered at the thought of all those tons of water pressing down on the man's frame as he dived twenty fathoms below, protected only by flimsy canvas and the precious air that flowed through his lifeline. The intense pressure could severely damage the ears and joints, and if a diver persevered, it could lead to paralysis and death, a condition known as the bends.
"God rest his soul." Kitty crossed herself. "They are brave men."
"Who are paid a fortune to be brave," Andrew pointed out. "I've had another request to up their wages, and still I hear talk of this ridiculous 'no blacks' policy actually being implemented in Broome. Can you imagine whites ever signing up to do the job?"
"No," she replied, "but then no matter what their skin color, I cannot imagine anyone risking death every day simply to earn money."
"My dear, you have never known starvation, or the responsibility these men feel to earn as much for their families as they possibly can."
"You are right," she said quietly, irritated at how Andrew could encompass both avarice and morality in a few short sentences. She stood up. "I think I'll retire for a nap."
"Of course. Shall I send for Dr. Blick to call on you this evening?"
"I doubt he can tell me more than that the baby is not yet ready to make its entrance into the world, and I know that all too well."
"Mother told me that most first babies are late."
But most of their mothers are not living in Broome, with the wet season approaching, Kitty thought to herself as she nodded at him and left the room.
Camira woke her later that evening and placed a cup of something noxious smelling on her nightstand.
"Missus Boss, baby nottum come. Not good. We helpa little fella, yes?" She proffered the cup to Kitty. "My women drinkum this. Missus Boss, it is time."
"What's in it?"
"Natural. From the earth. No harm. Drinkum now."
And Kitty, desperate as she was, did as she was told.
The pains started a few hours later, and as Kitty rose to use the privy, a splash heralded the breaking of her water. Calling for Andrew, who was currently sleeping next door in his dressing room, Kitty walked back to the bedroom and lay down.
"The baby is coming," she told him as he arrived at the door.
"I will send for Dr. Blick immediately."
"And Camira," Kitty said, as a contraction surged through her. "I want Camira with me."
"I will get her now," Andrew promised as he dressed hurriedly and shot off.
Throughout that long feverish night, as the thunderclouds gathered above Broome, Kitty could remember little, apart from the pain and the soothing voice of Camira.
Dr. Blick had arrived—from the look of his rolling countenance, straight from a drinking den on Sheba Lane.
"What is a black doing in the birthing room?" he'd slurred to Andrew.
"Leave her!" Kitty had shouted as Camira hummed under her breath and rubbed Kitty's back.
Andrew shrugged his shoulders at the doctor and nodded. After a fast examination, Dr. Blick told her there was plenty of time to go and that she was to call if she needed him. Then he left the room. So it was Camira who encouraged her to stand up, to pace the floor "and walka the baby outta there, as I singa it here."
At four in the morning, the clouds finally burst and the rain started to pelt on the tin roof.
"He's-a coming, he's-a coming, Missus Boss, very soon now . . . dunna you worry."
And as the lightning flashed above them, illuminating the garden outside and Camira's trancelike expression, with a huge push and a crash of thunder, Kitty's baby arrived into the world.
Kitty lay there, unable to do anything but pant with relief that the pain was over. She raised her head to see her baby, but instead saw Camira between her legs, biting on something.
"What are you doing?" she whispered hoarsely.
"I'm-a settin' him free, Missus Boss. Here." She swept the baby up in her arms, turned it upside down on her palm, and slapped its bottom hard. At this indignity, the baby gave out a loud shriek and started to cry.
"Here now, Missus Boss. Holdum your baby. I get docta fella." Then she stroked Kitty's forehead. "He big strong boy. You clever woman."
And with that, she left the room.
Dr. Blick, who had obviously been sleeping off last night's entertainment in the drawing room, staggered through the door.
"Good Lord! That was a fast labor," he commented, as he tried to wrestle the baby out of Kitty's arms.
"He is well, doctor, and I wish him to stay with me."
"But I must check him over. It is a 'he'?"
"Yes, and he is perfect."
"Then I shall tidy you up down below."
She watched as Dr. Blick lifted the clean sheet that Camira had placed over her.
"Well now, I see there's no need." Dr. Blick had the grace to blush as he realized he'd slept through the entire event.
"Would you ask my husband to come in to see his son?"
"Of course, dear lady. I am glad for all that it was such a smooth and fast process."
Yes, it was, because Camira was here and you were not, thought Kitty.
As Andrew entered the bedroom, Kitty thanked all of the stars in the sky that Camira had returned to her.
Broome, Western Australia
December 1911
## 16
My dear, I need to discuss something with you," said Andrew, folding his copy of the Northern Times and putting it neatly by his breakfast plate.
"And what might that be?"
"Father wants me to sail to Singapore in the new year, and from there travel with him to Europe. He wishes me to meet his contacts in Germany, France, and London, because he has finally had enough of traveling and wants me to take over the sales side of the pearls too. We will be away for nearly three months. I had thought of asking you to accompany me, but it will be an arduous trip at that time of year when the seas are so rough. Especially for a child not yet four years old. I presume you wouldn't be prepared to leave Charlie behind with Camira?"
"Good Lord, no!" replied Kitty. Charlie was the sun in her morning and her moon at night. She missed him after an hour, let alone three months. "Are you sure he couldn't come with us?"
"As you know yourself, life onboard ship can be dull and unpleasant. We shall not be stopping at any port for longer than a day or two. I must be back by the end of March for the start of the new season."
"Then perhaps I could sail on from London with Charlie and travel up to Edinburgh? I would very much like my mother, and the rest of my family, to meet him. My new brother, Matthew, is almost five, and has never yet met his big sister."
"Darling, I promise that next year, when I am finally master of my own timetable, we shall travel back to Scotland together. Perhaps for Christmas?"
"Oh yes!" Kitty closed her eyes in pleasure.
"Then I could leave you both for a few weeks in Edinburgh while I conduct my business. But this year, with Father in tow, that is just not possible."
Kitty knew that Andrew meant his father did not want a young child tagging along with them. Equally, she knew from experience that Andrew would not stand up to him and insist. "Well, I cannot leave Charlie, and that is that."
"Then would you consider traveling to Adelaide with Charlie while I am gone? At least you would have the company—and security—of my mother and Alicia Hall?" Andrew suggested.
"No. I shall stay here. I have Camira and Fred to guard me, and three months is not that long."
"I don't like to think of you alone here, Kitty, especially during the wet season."
"Really, Andrew, we will be fine. I have all our friends to watch over me too. And now Dr. Suzuki has come to town and set up his new hospital, my health and Charlie's is assured," she added.
"Perhaps I should postpone the trip until next year, when we can travel together, but I am so eager to become autonomous, without feeling that Father is constantly looking over my shoulder."
"Darling, even though we will miss you, we are safe here, aren't we?" Kitty turned to Charlie, who was sitting between them, eating his egg and toast.
"Yes, Mama!" Charlie—a little blond angel with egg yolk and crumbs smeared on his face—banged his spoon on his plate.
"Hush, Charlie." Andrew took the spoon away from him. "Now, I must leave for the office. I will see you both at luncheon."
As he left, Camira arrived in the dining room to clean Charlie up and take him off to play in the garden with Cat. Fred had proved himself a useful carpenter and had erected a baby swing out of wood, which he had hung by two strong ropes to a boab tree. In fact, thought Kitty contentedly, Fred had changed almost beyond recognition. No longer did he smell, and due to Camira's tireless tutelage, he had slowly begun to grasp English.
The breakthrough in Fred and Camira's relationship had happened almost four years ago, just after Charlie's birth. Mrs. Jefford, the wife of one of the most powerful pearling masters in town, had decided to come calling to the house unannounced—an unusual event in itself, as these things were normally arranged at least a week before.
"I was just passing, Kitty dear, and realized that I had not yet paid my respects to you since your son was born. I was away in England, you see, visiting my family."
"It is most kind of you to think of us." Kitty had ushered her into the drawing room. "May I get you a glass of something cool to drink?" she'd asked as she watched Mrs. Jefford's beady eyes travel around the room.
"Yes, thank you. What a dear little place this is," she'd commented as Kitty signaled for Medha to bring in a jug of lemonade. "So . . . homey."
As Kitty had sat down, she'd glanced out of the window and seen Camira, her eyes full of fear, her hand signaling a cut throat. Mrs. Jefford had proceeded to tell Kitty about the treasures she'd recently acquired in her own home. "We believe that the vase may well be Ming," she'd tittered.
Kitty was used to the one-upmanship of the pearling masters' wives, who vied, it seemed, even harder than their husbands to claim the crown for the most successful pearler in Broome.
"Mr. Jefford was so lucky last year finding eight exquisite pearls, one of which he sold recently in Paris for a king's ransom. I'm sure that one day your husband will be equally successful, but of course he is still young and inexperienced. Mr. Jefford has learned the hard way that many of the valuable pearls never make it into his hands. And has devised ways and means to make sure that they do."
Kitty had wondered how long this eulogy to self and husband would last. When Mrs. Jefford had finally exhausted her list of recent extravagances, Kitty had asked her if she'd like to see baby Charlie.
"He's napping now, but I am sure I can wake him early. Just for once," she'd added.
"My dear, having had three of my own, I know how precious a sleeping baby is, so please do not do so on my account. Besides, Mrs. Donaldson told me recently that you have employed a black nursemaid to care for him?"
"I have, yes."
"Then I must warn you never to leave her alone with the child. The blacks have a price on white babies' heads, no less!"
"Really? Do they wish to put them in a pot and cook them?" Kitty had asked, straight-faced.
"Who knows, my dear!" Mrs. Jefford had shuddered. "But I repeat, they cannot be trusted. Only a few months ago, I had to sack my last maid, once it came to my attention that she was supplementing her income by whoring in the brothels in Japtown. And when I say it came to my attention, I mean that the girl was a good few months gone. She did her best to hide it from myself and Mr. Jefford, of course, but in the end, one could hardly fail to notice. When I said that her services were no longer required, she literally attacked me, begging me to forgive her and have her stay. I had to fight her off. Then she disappeared into the shantytown, never to be seen again."
"Really? How dreadful."
"It was." Mrs. Jefford studied Kitty's expression. "The child she was carrying is almost certainly a half caste, and as it will surely have been born now, it must be found and taken by the Protectorate to a mission."
"Goodness! What a tragic story." By now, Kitty had realized exactly why Mrs. Jefford had come to pay a visit.
"I will say that she was a good worker and I have missed her since, but as a Christian woman, I could not countenance an illegitimate child under my roof." Mrs. Jefford had thrown her a beady look.
"I am sure you could not. Oh, I believe I have just heard Charlie crying. Will you excuse me?" Rising from her chair, Kitty had walked as sedately as she could to the door. Closing it behind her, she had dashed into the kitchen, telling Medha to rouse Charlie for her, then grabbed the blacking from beside the range and hurried outside to the backyard. Entering the hut without knocking, Kitty had found Camira hiding under the bedstead, her baby girl clutched to her chest.
"Make baby black." Kitty had pushed the blacking toward her. "Fred your husband, understand?"
In the gloom, all Kitty could see was Camira's terrified eyes. "Understand," she'd whispered.
Then she had raced back to the kitchen, where Medha was holding a screaming Charlie. "Please bring a bottle through to the drawing room," Kitty had ordered as she'd grabbed the baby and walked back to Mrs. Jefford.
"Forgive me for taking so long. He had a full napkin," she'd said as Medha arrived with the bottle.
"Surely your nursemaid sees to that kind of thing?" Mrs. Jefford had probed.
"Of course, but Camira went to fetch some more muslin from the haberdashery, while her husband collected the ice from town on the cart. They have only just returned."
"What a handsome little chap," Mrs. Jefford commented as Charlie sucked away heartily on his bottle. "Did you say that the name of your nursemaid was Camira?"
"I did, and I feel very fortunate to have her. She was educated at Beagle Bay mission, where she cared for the babies in the nursery."
"Do you know," said Mrs. Jefford after a pause, "I am almost certain that Camira was the given name of the pregnant maid I had to let go. We called her 'Alice,' of course."
"Of course," Kitty had said. "I am still learning the way of these things."
"You say she is married?"
"Why, yes, to Fred, who has worked for both my father-in-law and my husband for years. He drives the trap, tends the ponies, and keeps the grounds under control. And oh, he is so very proud of his new baby daughter. Alkina arrived into the world just two weeks before Charlie. They are a devoted family, and study the Bible regularly," Kitty had thrown in for good measure.
"Well, well, I had no idea Alice had a husband."
"Then perhaps you would like to meet the happy family?"
"Yes, of course I would be . . . pleased to see Alice and her new child."
"Then come with me." Kitty had led Mrs. Jefford to the backyard.
"Fred? Camira?" Kitty's heart had pounded in her chest as she rapped on the door of the hut, having no idea whether Camira would have understood her instructions. To her utter relief, the "happy family"—Fred, Camira, and the baby, swaddled in her mother's arms—had appeared at the door of the hut.
"My dear friend Mrs. Jefford wanted to meet your husband and see your new baby," Kitty enunciated, trying to calm the fear in Camira's eyes. "Isn't the baby beautiful? I think she looks just like her father."
Camira nudged Fred and whispered something to him. To his credit, Fred folded his arms and nodded, just like a proud daddy.
"Now," Kitty had said, noticing the blacking smears on the baby's face were starting to smudge in the heat, "Fred, why don't you take Alkina while I pass Charlie to Camira to feed? I confess, I am quite exhausted!"
"Yessum, missus," Camira had squeaked. The exchange of babies ensued and Fred disappeared back inside the hut.
"Bless my soul!" Mrs. Jefford had said, fanning herself violently in the heat as they followed Camira back toward the house. "I had no idea that Alice was wed. They usually aren't, you see, and . . ."
"I understand completely, Mrs. Jefford." Kitty had placed a comforting arm upon hers, enjoying every moment of the woman's discomfort. "And it's so very thoughtful of you to take the trouble to visit me and Charlie."
"It was nothing, my dear. Now, I am afraid I must leave immediately as I have a game of bridge with Mrs. Donaldson. We must have you and Andrew to dine very soon. Good-bye."
Kitty had watched Mrs. Jefford hurrying along the front path toward her carriage. Then she'd walked into the kitchen, where Camira was sitting, visibly shaking, while she fed Charlie the rest of his bottle.
"She believed it! I . . ." Kitty had started to giggle, and then as Fred's desperate face had appeared at the kitchen door, holding out baby Cat like a ritual sacrifice, Kitty had let him in and taken the blackened baby from him.
"Missus Jefford thinkum Fred my husband?" The look of disgust on Camira's face made Kitty laugh even harder. "I notta marry a man who smellum bad like him."
Fred had beaten his chest. "I-a husband!"
And the three of them had laughed until their sides ached.
From that moment on, Fred had taken his fictitious duties seriously. When Camira was working inside the house looking after Charlie, Fred stood guard over Cat, as though the day Mrs. Jefford had visited had joined the three of them as a real family. He had started to wash and had smartened up considerably, and nowadays he and Camira bickered like an old married couple. It was obvious that Fred adored her, but Camira would have none of it.
"Notta right skins for each other, Missus Kitty." It had taken months of persuasion for Camira to call her mistress by her Christian name, rather than "boss."
Kitty had no idea what that meant or where Camira's religious allegiance actually lay: One moment she would be whispering to her "ancestors" up in the skies, and singing strange songs in her high, sweet voice if one of the children caught a fever. The next, she was sitting with Fred in the stable, reading him the Bible.
Since Mrs. Jefford's visit, there had been no threats from the local Protectorate. Camira was free to walk wherever she wished to in Broome, with Cat and Charlie nestled together in the perambulator. To the whites, she was now a married woman, under the protective banner of her "husband."
Kitty sat down to write a letter to her mother, and included a recent picture of herself with Andrew and Charlie that had been taken by the photographer in town. So far from her family, she found Christmas the most difficult time of year, especially as it came at the start of the "Big Wet," as Camira called it. She pondered the thought of Andrew going to Europe in January, and only wished she and Charlie could travel with him to visit her mother and sisters in Edinburgh, but she knew from experience that it was pointless to beg him again.
In the past four years, her husband had become further wedded to his business. Kitty read the tension on his face when a haul was coming in on a lugger, and the stress of disappointment later the same day when it revealed no treasure. Yet the business was doing well, he said, and his father was pleased with the way things were going. Only last month another lugger and crew had been added to their fleet. Kitty was just glad that she had Charlie to occupy her, for her husband's attention was constantly elsewhere. There was one thing he craved above all—the discovery of a perfect pearl.
"He is so driven," she said to herself as she sealed the envelope and put it on a pile for Camira to post later. "I only wish he could be content with what he has."
"I have written to Drummond," Andrew said over dinner that night, "and explained to him that you have insisted on staying in Broome while I am in Europe. He's usually in Darwin in January, supervising the shipment of his cattle to the overseas markets. I suggested that if that's the case, he might look in on you once his business is completed."
Kitty's stomach did an immediate somersault at the mention of Drummond's name. "As I have assured you, we will be fine. There's no need to trouble your brother."
"It would do him good. He is yet to meet his nephew and living on that godforsaken cattle station of his, I worry he is turning native, so lacking is he for any civilized company."
"He is not yet married?"
"Chance would be a fine thing," Andrew snorted. "He's far too smitten with his heads of cattle to find a wife."
"I am sure he is not," said Kitty, wondering why she was defending her brother-in-law. She had neither seen him nor heard a word from him in nigh on five years—not even a telegram to congratulate the two of them on the birth of Charlie.
This, however, did not stop her from remembering how he'd kissed her that New Year's Eve, especially as marital relations with her husband had dwindled considerably. Often, Andrew would retire before she did, and when she arrived in the bedroom he was already fast asleep, exhausted from the stress of the day. Since Charlie's birth almost four years ago, Kitty could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he'd reached for her and they'd made love.
The lack of a second child had been duly commented on by the gossipy circle of pearling masters' wives. Kitty replied that she was enjoying Charlie far too much to put herself through another pregnancy, and besides, she was still young. The truth was that she longed for another baby, yearned for the big family that she herself had been brought up in. And also, if she was honest, the loving touch of a man . . .
"You are absolutely set on staying here rather than going to Alicia Hall?" Andrew was asking her as Camira cleared the dinner plates from the table.
"For the last time, darling, yes."
"Then I will confirm the trip with Father. And I promise you, Kitty, that next year I will take you and Charlie back to visit your family." Andrew rose and patted his wife's shoulder.
On the deck of the Koombana a month later, guilt and regret filled Andrew's eyes as he embraced his wife and child.
"Auf wiedersehen, mein Kleiner. Pass auf deine Mutter auf, ja?" Andrew set Charlie down as the Koombana's bell rang out to warn all nonpassengers to leave the ship.
"Good-bye, Kitty. I'll send a telegram when we reach Fremantle. And I promise to arrive home with something extraordinary for you." He winked at her, then tapped his nose, as Kitty swept Charlie up into her arms.
"Take care of yourself, Andrew. Now, Charlie, say good-bye to your father."
"Auf wiedersehen, Papa," Charlie chirped. On Andrew's insistence, he had been spoken to in both English and German and switched between the two languages with ease.
After walking down the gangplank, Kitty and Charlie waited on the quay with a horde of well-wishers. The Koombana's presence in Broome always saw its residents in festive mood. The ship was the pride of the Adelaide Steamship Company—the height of luxury and a feat of engineering, built with a flat bottom so that it could glide into Roebuck Bay even at low tide. The horn blew and the residents waved the Koombana on her way.
As Kitty and Charlie took the open-topped train along the mile-long pier back to the town, Kitty looked at the sparkling water beneath her. The day was so unbearably humid, she had an overwhelming urge to take off all her clothes and dive in.
Once again she thought how ridiculous the social rules on behavior were; as a white woman, the idea of swimming in the sea was one that could simply not be countenanced. She knew Camira often took Cat down to the gloriously soft sand and shallow waters of Cable Beach when the jellyfish weren't in, and had offered to take Charlie too. When Kitty had suggested it to Andrew, he had refused point-blank.
"Really, darling, sometimes you do have the most ridiculous notions! Our child, swimming with the blacks?"
"Please don't call them that! You know both their names very well. And given our child lives by the sea as both you and I did, surely he should be taught to swim? I'm sure you did at Glenelg."
"That was . . . different," Andrew had said, although Kitty had no idea why it was. "I'm sorry, Kitty, but on this one, I'm putting my foot down."
As Charlie slumbered against her shoulder, worn out from the heat and excitement, Kitty gave a small smile.
While the husband's away, the "Kat" can play . . .
The following day, Kitty asked Camira if there was perhaps a hidden cove where Charlie could splash in the water. Camira's eyebrows rose at her mistress's request, but she nodded.
"I knowa good place with no stingers."
That afternoon, Fred drove the pony and cart to the other side of the peninsula. For the first time since she'd arrived in Australia, Kitty felt the sheer bliss of dipping her feet into the gloriously cool waters of the Indian Ocean. Riddell Beach was not the vast sandy stretch that Cable Beach boasted, but it was infinitely more interesting, with its large red rock formations and tiny pools full of fish. With gentle encouragement from Camira, who had removed her blouse and skirt as innocently as a child, Charlie was soon screeching and splashing happily in the water with Cat. As Kitty paddled in the shallows, holding up her petticoats, she was sorely tempted to do the same.
Then Camira pointed up to the heavens and sniffed the air. "Storm a-coming. Time to go home."
Even though the sky looked perfectly clear to Kitty, she had learned to trust Camira's instincts. And sure enough, just as Fred steered the pony and cart into their drive, a rumble of thunder was heard, and the first raindrops of the approaching Big Wet began to fall. Kitty sighed as she took Charlie into the house, for as much as she'd longed for the blissful coolness of the air that would arrive with the storm, in less than a few minutes' time, the garden would be a river of red sludge.
The rain lasted all night and well into the next day, and Kitty did her best to amuse Charlie inside the house with books, paper, and coloring pencils.
"Play with Cat, Mama?" He looked up at her mournfully.
"Cat is with her own mama, Charlie. You can go and see her later."
Charlie pouted and his eyes filled with tears. "Wanna go now."
"Later!" she snapped at him.
Recently, Kitty had noticed how, no matter what exciting things she suggested the two of them do together, all Charlie wanted was to be with Cat. Certainly, Camira's daughter was an extraordinarily lovely little girl, with a gentle nature that calmed Kitty's more hyperactive son. There was no doubt that she was already a beauty, with her gorgeously soft skin the color of gleaming mahogany and her mesmeric amber eyes. She'd also realized in the past few months that Charlie was not just bilingual, but trilingual. Sometimes, she would hear the children playing together in the garden and talking in Cat's native Yawuru.
Kitty had said nothing about this to Andrew, but the fact that Charlie was clever enough to understand and speak three languages, when she herself sometimes struggled to find the right word in one, made her proud. Yet, as she watched Charlie peering out of the kitchen window, looking desperately for Cat, she wondered if she'd allowed Charlie to spend more time in her company than he should.
The rain finally stopped, although the red sludge had overwhelmed her precious roses, and, with Fred's help, she spent the next morning clearing the beds as best she could. That afternoon, knowing it was low tide and feeling it important to spend some time alone with her son, she drove Charlie on the cart to Gantheaume Point to show him the dinosaur footprint.
"Monsters!" said Charlie, as Kitty tried to explain that the enormous gouges in the rocks far beneath them were made by a giant foot. "Did God make 'em?"
"Did God make them, Charlie," she reprimanded him, realizing Cat and Camira's pidgin English was having an effect. "Yes, he did."
"When he makum the baby Jesus."
"Before he made the baby Jesus," said Kitty, knowing Charlie was far too young to try to grapple with such philosophical questions. As they headed back home, she mused that life only became more confusing when one viewed it through the eyes of an innocent child.
That evening, Kitty put Charlie to bed and read him a story, then, as Andrew wasn't there, she took her supper on a tray in the drawing room. Picking up a book from the shelf, she heard another rumble of thunder outside and knew further rain was on its way and the Big Wet had begun in earnest. Settling down to read Bleak House, which served on all levels to cool her senses, she heard the rain begin to pour onto the tin roof. Andrew had promised that next year he would have it tiled, which would lessen the almighty clatter above them.
"Good evening, Mrs. Mercer."
Kitty almost jumped out of her skin. She turned around and saw Andrew, or at least, a half-drowned and red-sludge-spattered version of him, standing at the drawing room door.
"Darling!" she said as she rose and hurried toward him. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"I was desperate to see you, of course." He embraced her and she felt his soggy clothes dampening her own.
"But what about the voyage to Singapore? The trip to Europe? When did you decide to turn back?"
"Kitty, how good it feels to hold you in my arms once more. How I have missed you, my love."
It was something about the smell of him—musky, sensuous—that finally alerted her.
"Good grief! It's you!"
"You are right, Mrs. Mercer, it is indeed me. My brother asked me to come to see if you were well in his absence. And as I was passing by . . ."
"For pity's sake!" Kitty wrenched her body away from his. "Do you take pleasure in your joke? I believed you were Andrew!"
"And it was very lovely . . ."
"You should have announced yourself properly. Is it my fault that you look identical?!" Moved beyond rational thought at his impudence, Kitty slapped him sharply across the face. "I . . ." Then she sank into a chair, horrified at her actions. "Forgive me, Drummond, that was totally uncalled for," she apologized as she watched him rub his reddening cheek.
"Well, I've had worse, and I will forgive you. Although even I don't believe that Andrew calls you 'Mrs. Mercer' when he walks through the door, seeking his supper and his wife's company. But you are of course correct," he conceded. "I should have announced myself the minute I walked through the door, but—forgive my vanity—I thought that you would know me."
"I was hardly expecting you—"
"Surely Andrew told you that he'd invited me to pay a visit?"
"Yes, but not so soon after he'd left."
"I was already in Darwin when the telegram was sent on to me in December. I decided there was little point in going back to the cattle station, only to return and do as my brother had bidden me. Do you by any chance have any brandy? It sounds odd given the heat, but I actually find myself shivering."
Kitty saw the red rivulets dripping off him and forming a puddle on the floor. "Goodness, forgive me for having you stand there when you are soaked through and probably exhausted. I shall call my maid and have her fill the bathtub for you. Meanwhile, I shall find the brandy. Andrew keeps a bottle for guests somewhere."
"You are still teetotal then?"
He gave her a lopsided grin, and despite herself, Kitty smiled. "Of course." She took a glass and a bottle from a cupboard and did as Drummond had asked. "Now, I will get your bath filled."
"There is no need to call your maid. Just point me in the direction of the water and tub." He tossed the brandy back in one mouthful and then proffered the glass to her to be filled again.
"Are you hungry?" she asked him.
"I'm famished, and will gladly eat any fatted calf you have to hand. But first, I need to get out of these wet clothes."
Having led Drummond to Andrew's dressing room and shown him the pitchers with which to fill the tub, she went to the kitchen to put together a tray of bread, cheese, and soup left over from lunchtime.
Drummond entered the kitchen twenty minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist. "All the clothes I have with me are filthy. May I borrow something of my brother's to wear?"
"Of course, take what you wish." Kitty could not help stealing a glance at his bare chest—the sinews taut across it, and the muscles lying beneath the deep tan of his shoulders that spoke of hard manual labor.
He arrived in the drawing room in Andrew's silk robe and slippers. He ate the soup silently and hungrily, then poured himself further brandy.
"Did you travel by boat between Darwin and Broome?" she asked politely.
"I traveled overland, part of the way on horseback. Then I happened upon the Ghan cameleers as they made camp on the banks of the Ord River. The river was swollen, so they were waiting until the water subsided enough for the camels to be safely hauled across on a line. Poor blighters, they're not keen on swimming. I continued my journey with them, which was far more entertaining than traveling alone. The stories those cameleers have to tell . . . and all the time in the world to tell them. It took many days to get here."
"I have heard that the desert beyond Broome is a dangerous place to be."
"It is indeed, but I'd imagine not nearly as deadly as the viperlike tongues of some of your female neighbors. Give me a black's spear or a snake any day, above the stultifying conversation of the colonial middle classes."
"You make our lives here sound very dull and pedestrian," Kitty said irritably. "Why do you always wish to patronize me?"
"Forgive me, Kitty. I understand that everything is relative. The fact that you sit here now, a woman alone and unprotected in a town thousands of miles from civilization, where murder and rape are commonplace, is a credit to your strength and bravery. Especially with a young child."
"I am not unprotected. I have Camira and Fred."
"And who might Camira and Fred be?"
"Fred takes care of the grounds and the horses, and Camira helps me in the house and with Charlie. She has a daughter of her own, of similar age to my son."
"I presume they are blacks?"
"I prefer not to use that term. They are Yawuru."
"Good for you. It is unusual to have such a family unit working for you."
"I wouldn't call them that, exactly. It's complicated."
"It always is," Drummond agreed, "but I am glad for you. Once such people are committed, they make the most loyal of servants and protectors. To be honest, I am astounded that my brother allowed you to employ such a couple."
"They aren't a couple."
"Whatever arrangement they have is unimportant. What is important is that Andrew overrode his prejudice and allowed them close. Now I am no longer so concerned about you being here in Broome alone. I admit to being horrified when I received the telegram. Why did my brother not take you with him?"
"He said it was a business trip and that Charlie would become restless aboard ship. He wanted me to go to Adelaide to stay with your mother, but I refused."
"You thought that option a fate worse than death, no doubt." Drummond raised an eyebrow and refilled his brandy glass. "I am sure that you have realized by now that the only thing that matters to Andrew is proving himself to Father. And, of course, becoming richer than him."
"These things matter to him, of course they do, as they matter to any man—"
"Not to me."
"To every other man, then." Kitty stifled her irritation as she watched Drummond drain his brandy glass yet again.
"Perhaps I have never known the pressure of being the eldest son of a rich man. I've often mused on the fact that those two short hours it took me to follow Andrew into the world were a godsend. I am happy to have him take the Mercer crown. As you may have realized, I am a lost cause, unfit for civilized society. Unlike Andrew, who is—and has always been—a stoic pillar of it."
"He is certainly a good husband to me and a caring father to Charlie. We want for nothing, I have no complaints."
"Well, I do." Drummond suddenly slammed his glass down onto the table. "I asked you to wait until I'd returned from Europe before you said yes to Andrew. And you didn't."
Kitty stared at him, outraged at his vanity. "Do you really believe I thought you were being serious? I didn't hear another word from you!"
"I was on a boat when my brother proposed. I hardly felt it appropriate to send a telegram asking him why his fiancée hadn't adhered to my wishes!"
"Drummond, you were drunk that night, as you are now!"
"Drunk or sober, what the hell is the difference?! You knew that I wanted you!"
"I knew nothing! Enough!" Kitty stood up, now shaking with anger. "I will not listen to this rubbish any longer. I am Andrew's wife. We have a child and a life together, and that is the end of it."
Silence fell between them; the only sound in the room was the rain rattling down on the roof above them.
"My apologies, Kitty. I have traveled a long way. I am exhausted and not used to civilized company. Perhaps I should go to bed."
"Perhaps you should."
Drummond stood up, swaying slightly. "Good night." He walked to the door, then turned around to look at her. "That New Year kiss is what I remember most of all. Don't you?"
With that, he left the room.
## 17
Kitty hardly slept that night, Drummond's words racing around her head like a swarm of flies feasting on a carcass.
"Please ignore anything I said, I was delirious from exhaustion and drink," he said at breakfast the next morning. Then he took Charlie into his arms and threw him high into the air, catching the laughing child and placing his chubby legs about his own broad shoulders.
"So, nephew of mine, we men must stick together. Show me what needs to be shown around here."
They promptly disappeared out of the drive, and were gone so long that Kitty was quite beside herself with worry when they eventually returned.
"Charlie has shown me the town," Drummond said, setting him onto his feet. Kitty noticed her son's face was filthy from chocolate and ice cream and God knew what else.
"I did, Mama, and everyone thought he was Papa! He lookum the same!"
"He does look the same, yes, Charlie."
"We fooled a few people, didn't we, Charlie?" Drummond laughed as he set about wiping the child's dirty mouth.
"We did, Uncle Drum."
"We might well be receiving some house calls from confused neighbors who believe that your husband has returned early from his travels. Personally, I can hardly wait." Drummond winked at Kitty.
Sure enough, in the days that followed, there was a stream of townsfolk beating a path to her door. Each time, Drummond greeted them politely, behaving like the perfect host. He was far more ebullient than his brother, joking with them gently about their mistake and charming all who met him. The end result was a flood of dinner invitations arriving through the letter box.
"Yet another one," Kitty said as she opened it. "And it's from the Jeffords! Truly, Drummond, we must refuse them all."
"Why? Am I not your brother-in-law? Let alone Charlie's uncle and my father's son? Have I not been invited here at the specific request of my twin brother?"
"You said only recently that a snakebite was less deadly than the viper tongue of a female neighbor. You will see such an event as sport, and however dull you may find our 'colonial middle-class' acquaintances, I do not wish you to offend them," Kitty retorted.
"I told you that I was drunk that evening. I remember nothing," he called after her as she stalked along the hallway and into the drawing room.
"What the matter, Missus Kitty? You lookum sad." Feather duster in hand, Camira surveyed her.
"Nothing, I think I must be tired."
"Mister Drum upset you?"
"No." Kitty sighed. "It's too complicated to explain."
"He likem light in sky; Mister Andrew dark, likem earth. Both good, jus' different."
Kitty thought how accurate Camira's assessment of the twins was.
"Charlie likem him, me an' Fred likem him. He good here now for us."
But not for me . . .
"Yes, it is good he is here. And you're right, Charlie seems to adore him."
"Mister Drum makem the life better for you, Missus Kitty. He funny fella."
Kitty stood up. "I think I'll take a nap, Camira. Could you mind Charlie whilst I do?"
Camira studied her suspiciously. "Yessum. I in charge of little fella."
Kitty went to lie down and wondered if she was sick. She certainly felt feverish, and despite her best intentions, the mere thought of Drummond's presence only a few feet away through a paper-thin wall had set her senses on fire. He hadn't said a single intimate word to her since the first night, and he'd confessed to being drunk then anyway . . .
Kitty rolled over to try to get comfortable and allow her tired mind some rest. Perhaps he really was here out of best intentions: minding his sister-in-law as his brother had asked him to do.
IN SINGAPORE STOP HEAR DRUMMOND WITH YOU STOP GLAD YOU ARE NOT ALONE STOP BUSINESS GOING WELL STOP LOVE TO YOU AND CHARLIE STOP ANDREW STOP
Kitty read the telegram over breakfast and groaned. Even her husband seemed to think it was wonderful that Drummond was staying with them. And so far, her guest was making no move to leave. Eventually, she'd had no choice but to accept some of the dinner invitations, and subsequently, they'd been out to dinner three times in the past week. Much to her surprise, Drummond had behaved impeccably on each occasion, charming the wives and telling swashbuckling stories to their husbands of his life in the outback. And, most important, staying sober throughout the entire evening.
"Do come again to visit!" Mrs. Jefford had tittered as Drummond had kissed her hand as they had said their good-byes. "Perhaps Sunday luncheon next week?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Jefford, I will let you know if we're free, as soon as I've consulted my diary," Kitty had replied politely.
"Do. It must be strange for you, having Drummond to stay. So like your husband, but so much . . . more." Mrs. Jefford had blushed like a young girl. "Good night, my dear."
It had been raining incessantly, but even so, Drummond had found ways to entertain Charlie and Cat. They played hide and seek inside the house, which rang with shrieks of excitement as the three of them tore around it. A miniature cricket pitch was set up along the entrance hall—Drummond professing horror that Andrew was yet to teach his son the basic rules of the game. Fred had been commandeered to whittle some stumps and a bat, and had, as Drummond said, done "a bloody good job."
As the rain continued to beat down, the front door became pockmarked by the ball Drummond had bought as a present for Charlie from the general store, and Cat was corralled into being wicket keeper or fielder, with Kitty keeping count of the runs and overs. By the end of the session, despite Kitty's careful scoring, Drummond always declared it a draw.
"House happy when he around," Camira announced one afternoon as she herded the overexcited children into the kitchen for tea. "When he leave, Missus Kitty?"
"I have absolutely no idea," she replied truthfully, not knowing whether she wished him to or not.
"When the rains stop, I suppose," said Drummond after Kitty asked him over supper the following evening.
"That could be weeks," Kitty responded, toying with the overcooked chicken on her plate. Tarik could still not judge how long to roast a bird.
"Is that a problem for you? If I am unwelcome here, I will go."
"No. It's not that . . ."
"Then what is it?" Drummond eyed her.
"Nothing. Perhaps I'm just tired tonight."
"Perhaps you find my presence uncomfortable. I've never seen you so tense. There was me, believing I was doing so well to behave in front of all your friends and doing my best to amuse Charlie and Cat—what an adorable child she is. Going to grow up to be a beauty too. Never mind my helping Fred keep the path free of sludge and—"
"Stop! Please, just stop." Kitty put her head into her hands.
"God's oath, Kat, what is it I've done?" Drummond looked at her, genuinely shocked at her distress. "Please tell me and I'll try to rectify it. I've even laid off the grog because I know you don't like it. I—"
"Don't you understand?!"
"What?"
"I don't know why you're here, or what you want! Whatever it is, I'm simply . . . exhausted!"
"I see," he sighed. "Forgive me. I had no idea that my presence here was upsetting you so much. I'll leave first thing tomorrow morning."
"Drummond." Kitty put her hand to her brow. "I did not ask you to leave tomorrow, I asked you when you would be leaving. Why does everything with you have to be a drama? Do you go to your bed at night thinking how you fooled everyone? Or is this the real you and the other Drummond a pretense? Or perhaps it's nothing to do with any of us here, and even though you protest it isn't, it's because you can never change the fact that you were born two hours later than your brother and he has everything you want!"
"Enough!" Drummond slammed his fist on the table, starting a cacophony of china, glass, and cutlery tinkling in a surreal impression of an orchestra.
"Well? Which is it? What is the real reason you are here?" Kitty asked him again.
He was silent for a long time before he looked up at her.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Not to me, no."
Drummond stood up and left the room, slamming the door behind him. She wondered if he'd gone to pack and would leave immediately. It was just the kind of dramatic gesture he was inclined to.
Within a few seconds, he was back, not with his luggage, but with a decanter.
"I brought a glass for you, but I'm presuming you don't want it."
"No, thank you. It is at least one lesson I can thank you for teaching me."
"There are no others?"
"Not that I can think of presently. Although I have learned to score at cricket, even if you always fix the result."
He smiled at that and took a sip of brandy. "Then at least I have achieved something. You are right, of course."
"About what? Please, Drummond," she entreated him, "no more riddles."
"Then I will tell you straight. You said a few moments ago that perhaps I secretly wanted everything my brother has. Well, you were right, because there was—and is—something I want very much. When I first met you that Christmas, I admired your spirit, and, yes, I found you attractive, but what man wouldn't? You're a beautiful woman. And then I watched my brother set his cap at you, and I admit now that the fact I could see how much he wanted you added to your allure. Brothers will be brothers, Kitty, and 'twas ever thus, especially with identical twins." Drummond took another gulp of his brandy. "However, if it began as a game, I apologize, for over that Christmas, I watched how you adapted to our ways, how you were so patient with my mother and my aunt, never once complaining about missing your family, and throwing yourself wholeheartedly into all that was presented to you. I will never forget you clambering onto that elephant with no care for your appearance or modesty. It was at that moment everything changed. For I saw through to your soul; saw it was free like mine, unfettered by convention. I saw a woman I could love."
Kitty concentrated hard on the contents of her water glass, not daring to raise her eyes to his.
"When I asked you to wait for me, I was in deadly earnest, but it was too little, too late. I knew it when I walked away, and I admit, if I had been you, I would have made the same decision. Two brothers, identical looking, one a drunkard and a joker and the other . . . well . . ." He shrugged. "You know who Andrew is. When the inevitable happened and I heard you were to marry my brother, I knew I had lost. Time passed and I lived my life, as we all do. Then I got the telegram from Andrew, asking me to call in to see you in Broome. I will shock you by confessing that I deliberated for many hours. Eventually, I decided it was best I came here to lay the ghost to rest and move on. I walked in here out of the rain, depleted and exhausted, took one look at you, and immediately knew that nothing had changed. If anything, as I've witnessed your strength and determination to make a life for you and your child in a hostile environment which most men—let alone women—would find daunting, my admiration and respect for you has increased. Put simply, my darling Kat, you are by far the most courageous, stubborn, intelligent, irritating, and gorgeous female I have ever had the misfortune to come across. And for some extraordinary reason that I cannot fathom, I love every bone in your beautiful goddamned body. So"—he raised his glass to her—"there you have it."
Kitty could hardly believe what she'd just heard, or dare to trust it. Every word he'd spoken mirrored her feelings exactly. Yet she knew she must reply pragmatically.
"I am your brother's wife and you have admitted you covet what he has. Are you sure that this feeling you say you have for me is not to do with that?"
"Good Lord! I have just put my heart on the plate in front of you, so I'd ask you to refrain from cutting it up into small pieces with your sharp tongue. However, it matters not whether you believe me, but whether I believe myself. You asked me why I was still here and I have told you the truth: I am yours for the taking. If you wish me to leave, then I will."
"Of course you may stay. Why, my husband himself invited you. Please, ignore my strange mood tonight. It's probably something I ate."
He searched her face to find the truth, but she pushed it down deep inside.
I will not be like my father . . .
"I am tired, Drummond. If you'll excuse me, I'm retiring to bed. Good night."
She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the door.
"Good night, Mrs. Mercer," he said.
As the Big Wet took hold of Broome, the streets became flooded and impassable. The shops along Dampier Terrace were shored up with sandbags and Fred valiantly waded through the sludge to fetch provisions. Kitty looked out of a window and saw that her precious garden was now buried under a river of red mud. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of the love she had put into trying to re-create a small slice of home.
The fact they were housebound made the situation with Drummond even more tense. Even if he wished to leave, with the weather as it was, he had little choice but to stay put. After several long days, during which Kitty thought she might go mad with frustration and desire, the rains finally stopped, and all of them emerged like blinking moles into the bright sunlight. Within minutes, Charlie and Cat were knee-deep in the red soupy earth, shouting and screaming as they splattered it on each other's faces and bodies.
The air felt fresher and cooler, but an unpleasant odor of sewage hung in it like an afterthought.
"We'd better be careful, this is cholera season. Scrub the children thoroughly, won't you, Camira?" she said, hauling Charlie out of the mud.
"Yessum, Missus Kitty. Bad time for big sick after rains stop."
Sure enough, word soon came that five cases of cholera had been brought to Dr. Suzuki's hospital, and subsequently, many more were reported.
"At least it's confined to the shantytown for now," Drummond comforted her after he'd taken a stroll into town to stretch his legs. "No white cases reported so far."
But soon there were, and having escaped from their homes, the residents' doors were once again shut tight, this time against a deadly plague.
Fred was the first one down in the Mercer household, and lay delirious on his straw pallet in the stables. Kitty was surprised when Camira insisted on caring for him herself rather than allowing him to be taken to hospital.
"He bin good to me an' I dun trust those docta fellas," she said firmly.
"Of course," Kitty said, knowing that Aboriginals were the last priority for hospital care. She clasped Camira's hands. "You must let me know what I can do to help."
As she retreated to the house, Kitty's heart pounded as she thought of the amount of contact Fred had with Charlie on a daily basis.
"Try not to worry. The Aboriginals have a far lower resistance to cholera than we do. Our Western illnesses came to Australia with us and slew the natives in their thousands," Drummond said.
"As horrific as that is, it's a comfort to me for Charlie's sake." She gave him a weak smile. "I'm glad you're here."
"Well now, that's the first positive thing you've said to me in days. My pleasure, ma'am." Drummond gave a mock bow.
While Fred sweated his way through the following two nights, Camira reported that she "dun know if he make it" and scurried back to the hut with noxious-smelling concoctions from the kitchen.
"How say you we take the kids on the cart to the beach?" Drummond suggested.
"Surely not?"
"Riddell Beach is well away from the town. And I think a breath of fresh air will do us all good," he added.
Kitty was as desperate as he to leave the house, so she packed up a small picnic and they set off, Drummond taking the longer way around to avoid going through the town.
Kitty sat on the soft sand as Drummond removed his clothes and went into the water in a pair of long johns.
"Sorry, but it has to be done," he teased her. "Come on, kids, race you to the water!"
She watched Charlie and Cat shouting and screaming as Drummond played with them in the shallows. She was glad to be out of the oppressive atmosphere of the house, but was disturbed by the facsimile of a family outing with a man who was not cowed by the rules of society, who looked like Andrew, but was not Andrew. A man who knew how to laugh, and live in the moment.
And yes, Kitty confessed to herself finally, she wished with all her heart that things were different.
When they arrived back home, Camira was already in the kitchen, her face full of relief. "Fred be fine now."
"Thank God," Kitty said as she gave Camira a hug. "Right, let's get these children into the tub and think about supper."
In the small hours of the night, Kitty felt sick and feverish. Then her stomach began to cramp and she only just made it to the privy, which was where Camira found her the following morning, collapsed on the floor.
"Mister Drum! Come-a quick!"
Perhaps she dreamed Camira screaming at Drummond, "Nottum hospital, Mister Drum! Many people sick! Go gettum medicines, we takem care of Missus Kitty here."
She opened her eyes to see Andrew's face—or maybe it was Drummond's—urging her to sip some salty liquid that made her gag, then vomit, and noticed that a foul, acidic smell hung permanently in the air.
Gentle hands washed her down with cool water as her stomach contracted again and again. She dreamed then of floating off to join Camira's ancestors who lived in the sky, or maybe God himself . . . Once, she opened her eyes and there was an angel, shimmering white in front of her, offering her a hand. A beautiful high-pitched voice was singing in her ear.
It would be nice, she thought with a smile, to be free of the pain.
Then another figure appeared in front of the angel, telling her, "Fight, my darling Kitty. Don't leave me now, I love you, I love you . . ."
She must have slept again, for when she opened her eyes, she could see small horizontal chinks of light appearing from behind the shutters.
"Why did no one close the curtains?" she murmured. "I always close them. Helps keep out the heat . . ."
"Well, Your Majesty, please do forgive my tardiness. I've had other things on my mind just recently."
Drummond stood over her, his hands clasped to his waist. He looked dreadful: pale and haggard, with dark purple rings visible under his eyes.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said to her.
"I dreamed an angel came to take me up to the heavens . . ."
"I'm sure you did. We nearly lost you, Kitty. I thought you were giving up. However, it looks to me like God didn't want you yet, and sent you back."
"Perhaps there is a God after all," she whispered as she tried to sit up, but then she felt horribly dizzy and lay back down on the pillows.
"Now, that is a conversation we'll have another time, after I've taken a nap. You seem lucid—up to a point—and you haven't messed the bed for a whole twelve hours," Drummond declared.
"Messed the bed?!" Kitty closed her eyes and used what little energy she had to turn away from him, full of horror and embarrassment.
"Cholera is a messy disease. Don't worry, I left the room when you and the sheets were changed. Camira did all that. Although I admit that if you had died, I was about to go to the police station and insist they arrest her for the murder of her mistress. When I tried to take you to the hospital, she fought like a tiger to restrain me. She's convinced that 'whitefella' hospitals are full of disease, which, in truth, they probably are. If you don't die of your own bacteria in an epidemic, you're likely to die of your neighbor's. In the end, she wore me down and I agreed, God help me."
"An angel was in here, I swear . . ."
"Are you delirious again, Kitty? I do hope not." Drummond raised an eyebrow. "Well, I will leave you to your talk of angels and go and tell Nurse Camira that you are alive and could be very well soon."
Kitty watched him as he walked toward the door. "Thank you," she managed to utter.
"My pleasure, ma'am. Always here to serve."
"I did see an angel," she insisted as, exhausted from the conversation, she closed her eyes and slept again.
"Mister Drum withum you night an' day. Neva left your side. Only when I change you an' dem stinkin' sheets." Camira wrinkled her nose. "He good whitefella, he listen to me when I tellum no hospital."
Kitty, who was sitting up in bed and doing her best to sip the watery, salty soup on the tray in front of her, studied Camira's dreamy expression. She realized her nursemaid and helpmeet had completely fallen under the spell of "Mister Drum" too.
"He lovem you, Missus Kitty." She nodded firmly.
"Of course he doesn't! Or at least"—Kitty tried to soften her gut reaction to Camira's words—"he loves me like any brother-in-law should."
Camira rolled her eyes in disagreement. "You lucky woman, Missus Kitty. Most fellas not good like-a him. Now, you eat an' gettum strong for your boy."
Two days later, Kitty felt confident enough to see Charlie without the sight of her terrifying him.
"Mama! Are you better?" he said as he ran into her arms and she felt the sheer life force in him.
"Much better, Charlie darling. And oh, so very glad to see you."
"Papa said he would come home when Uncle Drum telegraphed him to say you were sick."
Instinctively, Kitty's stomach turned over, just as it had during the worst of her recent illness. "Did he? That is very kind of him."
"Yes, but then you got well, so Uncle Drum went back to the telegraph office to tell Papa, so he isn't coming back."
"You must be disappointed, Charlie."
"Yes, but we have Uncle Drum to take care of us, and he looks exactly the same, but he's funnier and plays cricket and swims with us. Why won't Papa swim with us?"
"Maybe he will if we ask him nicely."
"He won't, 'cause he's always busy with work." Charlie kissed her wetly on her cheek as his chubby hands went around her neck. "I'm glad you didn't die. Me and Cat are going to help Fred build a hut in the garden."
"What hut?"
"Our own house. We can live in it together and maybe eat our supper there sometimes." Charlie's eyes pleaded with his mother. "Can we?"
"Sometimes, maybe," Kitty agreed, too exhausted to argue.
"And one day, we'll get married like you and Papa. Good-bye, Mama. Eat your soup and get strong."
Kitty watched him as he walked stoutly across the room. Even in the past few days, he seemed to have grown, in terms of both maturity and stature.
Although there was nothing wrong with childhood games, Kitty wondered once more whether she had made a mistake by entrusting Camira with so much of Charlie's care, but all that was for another time. Kitty concentrated on finishing her soup.
The following morning, she insisted she was well enough to take a bath and dress. Food was still a problem—it made her feel nauseated every time she looked at it—but she did her best to eat. Charlie and Cat were busy in the garden with Fred, who was sawing and nailing their play hut together.
"He's a good man," Drummond commented over breakfast. "You've treated him and Camira with respect, and they've repaid you tenfold."
"You're a good man too. Thank you for caring for me while I was sick. I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been here."
"My pleasure, or, at least, my duty. I couldn't have you die under my watch, could I? My brother would never have forgiven me. The good news is that it seems the epidemic is over in town, though Dr. Suzuki has told me they've lost a dozen souls at the hospital and you can probably triple that in the shantytown. Sadly, Mrs. Jefford was one of them."
"How tragic. I must write immediately to her husband."
"Death makes saints of us all, doesn't it?" Drummond gave her a wry smile. "Anyway, now you're well and the weather has improved, I'll probably make tracks in the next day or so."
"Surely there's more rain to come?"
"Perhaps, but I don't want to be under your feet any longer."
"Please stay until the weather is more settled," she begged, the thought of his leaving unbearable. She was sure it was his voice that had called her back when she'd stood on the brink of death. "Charlie adores you."
"That's kind of you to say so. And you?"
"Mama! Uncle Drum!" Charlie burst through the door. "Our hut is finished. Will you come and see it now?"
"Of course." Kitty stood up, grateful her son had broken the moment.
They crowded into the tiny hut, drank tea, and ate the iced buns that Tarik had made. They had the texture of bullets, but nobody minded.
"Can we sleep in here tonight, Mama?" Charlie begged.
"Sorry, darling, but no. Cat sleeps with her mother, and you sleep in your bedroom."
Charlie pouted as the adults rose and crouched down to leave the claustrophobic space.
That evening, Kitty took more time than normal to perform her toilette. Whether it was the way Drummond had nursed her, his voice pulling her back toward life, or the way he played so naturally with Charlie and Cat, she could deny it no longer. Dabbing her neck with a little perfume even though she knew it attracted mosquitoes, she stared at her reflection in the looking glass.
"I love him," she told it. "God save me, I can't help it."
They ate dinner together that evening, Kitty's hands shaking as she struggled through the three courses. Whether Drummond could feel the sudden electricity in the air, she had no idea. He ate well, enjoying a bottle of wine from a case that Andrew had had sent up from Adelaide. He seemed oblivious to the seismic shift inside her.
"Might you pass me a small glass of the wine?" she asked.
"Do you think that's wise?" Drummond frowned at her request. "I hardly think it's a good idea, given the delicate state of your health."
"Maybe not, but I wish to toast to the fact that I still have health to worry about, and am not lying in the morgue like poor Mrs. Jefford."
"All right." He poured her a thimbleful.
"A little more, if you please."
"Kitty . . ."
"For God's sake, I'm a grown woman! If I wish to take a glass of wine, I shall."
"I can see you're better." He raised an eyebrow. "Back to your bossy ways."
"Am I bossy?" she asked him.
"It was a joke, Kitty. Most things I say are. What's bitten you tonight? You're as jumpy as an unbroken mare."
Kitty took a sip of her wine. "I think that almost losing my life has . . . changed me."
"I see. How?"
"I suppose I've realized how fleeting it can be."
"It can indeed. And here in this great new world of ours, more so than most other places."
"I will also confess that in the past I've doubted God's existence, but that night I felt Him. I felt His love."
"God's oath!" Drummond refilled his glass with wine. "You've had an epiphany. Will you soon be begging the local reverend to be the first female to take the cloth?"
"For once will you stop teasing me!" Kitty drained her wine, already feeling her head spinning. "The point is that I . . . that is . . ."
"For pity's sake, Kitty, spit it out."
"Just like I felt His love, I love you, Drummond. And I believe I have done so since the first moment we met."
Kitty reached for the bottle of wine but Drummond snatched it away from her. "No more of that, missy. It brings back far too many bad memories. And"—he grasped her wrist—"I want to believe you mean what you're saying."
"I mean it. Yes." Kitty laughed suddenly. "And no, I am not drunk on a thimbleful of wine, but on relief! Have you any idea how exhausting it has been to deny my feelings for the past few weeks? Please, I beg you, Drummond, can we simply celebrate the joy of being alive? In this moment? And not worry about tomorrow, or what's right or wrong . . ."
After a long silence, he finally spoke. "You have no idea how happy your confession makes me feel. However, putting aside the small glass of wine you've just drunk, I think that you are perhaps more drunk on life itself, having so recently almost lost it. As much as I am desperate to love you in all possible ways, I suggest that for your sake, a hiatus is required. Some time for you to regain your strength and contemplate what you have said to me tonight. And the ramifications it would have for both of us and our family."
Kitty stared at him in disbelief. "Here I am, wantonly offering you my body and soul, and you choose this moment to be sensible! Time is a luxury that is finite, and my God, I do not want to waste another second of it."
"And by taking some of it to think about what you have said, it will not be wasted. If you're still of the same mind in a few days, well—"
"Now I am speaking from my heart, you from your head . . . Good grief!" Kitty wrung her hands. "Do you always find a way to be contrary? Or is it perhaps because seeing me so sick, and my body . . . out of control, has changed your mind?"
"I have seen every inch of your body, I can assure you it is quite beautiful." Drummond reached out his hand toward her, but she refused it and stood up on her still-weak legs.
"I am retiring to bed." She walked to the door, as straight-backed as she could manage, but an arm grabbed her and pulled her to him.
"Kat, I . . ." Then he kissed her roughly and her already giddy head spun even more. When he removed his lips and released his grip, she almost sank to the floor.
"You are as insubstantial as a rag doll," he said gently as he supported her weight in his arms. "Come, I will escort you along the hall and up to your bedroom."
Outside the door, he paused. "Have you the strength to undress yourself or should I help you?" He gave her a wry smile.
"I do," she managed.
"I must know you are sure, Kitty, because I cannot come back from this once it has begun. Ever."
"I understand. Good night, Drummond."
The few days he had asked for passed as slowly as watching a large boulder become sand. Luckily the children had their hut in which to play—Kitty had little idea of what they actually did together in there, but a stream of high-pitched giggles emanated from it whenever she went to check on them.
Drummond had announced he had some business to conduct in town for his father and had absented himself from the house for most of the time, leaving Kitty to pace restlessly, mad with the oppressive heat and feverish desire. No matter how many times she told herself to "think," as he had asked her to do, her rational brain seemed to have completely deserted her. And even when a loving telegram from Andrew arrived, she could not muster the necessary guilt to dominate her treacherous thoughts.
TRULY RELIEVED YOU ARE WELL AGAIN STOP GLAD DRUMMOND WAS THERE STOP HOPE TO RETURN WITH GIFT FIT FOR A QUEEN STOP ANDREW STOP
Two days later, Kitty could stand it no longer. Lying in bed, she heard Drummond's door close. Since Andrew's departure, she had taken to lying naked with only a sheet to preserve her modesty. Waiting until the grandfather clock in the entrance hall struck midnight, she stood up and put on her robe. Closing the door gently behind her so as not to disturb Charlie, she tiptoed along the corridor. Without knocking, she entered Drummond's room. He hadn't closed the shutters, and in the moonlight glinting through the glass panes, she saw him splayed naked on the bed.
She untied her robe and let it drop to the floor. Walking toward the bed, she reached out her hand to him.
"Drummond?"
He opened his eyes and stared up at her.
"I have thought. And I am here."
## 18
You well now, Missus Kitty," Camira commented a week later. "You mended good, yes?"
"I've mended good," Kitty repeated as she drank a cup of tea on the veranda, looking at her demolished rose bed and wondering whether it was actually worth the effort of planting another. She gazed dreamily at Camira, who was sloshing water onto the caked red mud and scrubbing it off with a hard brush.
"You different." Camira leaned on her brush and contemplated her mistress. "You lit up likem star!" she said, then carried on scrubbing.
"I am certainly relieved to be well again, and perhaps we have seen the last of the heavy rains for this year."
"Dem all good reason for happy, but I thinkum Mister Drum makem you happy too, Missus Kitty." Camira tapped her nose, winked, and went off to get a fresh pail of water.
Kitty's heart missed a beat at Camira's words. How did she know? Surely she could not have seen anything—they were both so careful, leaving any affectionate embraces until after Camira was in her hut with Cat, and Charlie fast asleep in his bed. Yet the sound of laughter as Drummond teased her perpetually, or tickled Charlie until he begged for mercy, was different. The house had a new energy and so did she. In fact, Kitty mused, she felt properly alive for the first time in her life.
Day and night, her body tingled with longing for Drummond, whether he was present in the room with her or tucked away in her imagination. Even the simplest pursuits now gave her pleasure if he was by her side. The merest touch of his hand shot a wave of electricity through her, and she'd wake up in the morning already longing for the evening to arrive so she could go to him and share their secret world of ecstasy.
After that first night, they had made a pact to simply live in the moment, not to let thoughts of the future destroy what they had found together. Kitty was amazed and ashamed at how easily she'd been able to do this. Though the rational part of her mind knew that Andrew would be returning in less than a month, its far more powerful emotional "twin" overrode it. She justified her actions with the thought that Drummond's presence during the long rainy season had not only saved her life, but been a blessing for Charlie too. Drummond's inventive mind could turn a chair into a ship filled with pirates and treasure being tossed on the sea, or a table into a hut in the jungle outside which lions and tigers roamed. It made a welcome change from the monotonous card games that Andrew always suggested when it rained.
Drummond's a child himself, Kitty thought to herself as she watched him crawl along the hall, growling fiercely. But at night, he was very much a man . . .
Since the weather had cleared, there had also been trips to Riddell Beach and in the farthest corner, shielded by the rock formations, Kitty had joined Cat, Drummond, and a now proficient Charlie in the gorgeous aquamarine waters.
"Mama! Take off your bloomers!" Charlie had shouted at her. "Uncle Drum said clothes weigh you down."
Kitty had not gone that far in front of Charlie, and had sworn him to secrecy about the swimming trips, but on a couple of occasions, she had left Charlie with Camira on the premise of business in town. She and Drummond had taken the cart to the beach and swum naked together. As he'd held her in his arms, kissing her face and her neck and licking the salty water off her breasts when they arrived back on the sands, she knew that no future moment she experienced could ever hold more happiness.
"Darling," Drummond said at the end of February as they lay together in his bed, Kitty half drugged from their lovemaking. "I have received a telegram from my father. He wishes me to join him and Andrew in Adelaide at the end of next week when they return from Europe. It's to do with the Mercer business empire. He wishes to apportion his interests to both Andrew and me so there will be no confusion in the event of his death. I must go home to Alicia Hall to sign the legal papers with the solicitor, and Andrew and I will draw up our own wills."
"I see." Kitty's heart, so recently full of love and contentment, plunged down to her stomach. "When will you leave?"
"I catch the boat in two days' time. Won't you ask what he is giving me? Find out what my prospects are?"
"You know I care not a jot about that. I'd live with you in a gum tree with nothing if necessary."
"Nevertheless I'll tell you. As you can well imagine, Andrew will have the Mercer pearling business transferred to him, which at present comprises seventy percent of the family income. I am to be endowed with a thousand square miles of arid desert and half-starved cattle—in other words, Kilgarra cattle station. Oh, and also a few acres of land some hours' journey outside of Adelaide. There's talk of some form of mining in the region, and my father has duly signed up. It may come to nothing, but knowing my father's instinctive nose when it comes to money, which is akin to a dingo catching the scent of a dead heifer, it will probably turn out to be profitable. I also inherit a bungalow in the Adelaide Hills and the vineyard that surrounds it. After my parents' deaths, my brother inherits Alicia Hall."
"Oh! But the bungalow is so much more beautiful! I have been there, and the views are spectacular!" Kitty said, remembering it vividly. "It was where Andrew proposed . . ." Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.
"Did he now? How very . . . quaint."
"Forgive me. That was tactless."
"I agree entirely." Drummond swept a tendril of hair back from her face. "Sadly, Mrs. Mercer, it seems to me that reality is encroaching on our godforsaken love nest. However much we have done our best to avoid it during these blissful few weeks, the time has come for you to make some decisions."
She knew it all too well. "And surely you too? After all, Andrew is your brother."
"Yes, a brother who had no compunction about snatching away my favorite toys when we were younger."
"I pray that I am not any form of retribution for his past misdemeanors," Kitty countered.
"If you are, then all to the good," Drummond chuckled. Then, seeing her expression, he relented. "Kitty . . . my Kat, I am, as always, teasing you. Although it concerns me that I have never yet won any battle Andrew has cared to wage."
"Oh yes, you have." Kitty reached up and kissed him gently on the cheek. "You know how to be happy. And because of that, so do I."
"I'm likely to become extremely unhappy if we do not talk about our future, my love." Drummond cupped her face in the palms of his hands. "When I leave for Adelaide, do you wish it to be forever?"
"Oh, Drummond." She shook her head despairingly. "I do not know."
"I am sure you don't. Good God, what a mess we find ourselves in. Perhaps it might help for me to tell you what I have been thinking."
"Please do."
"It's very simple: I can't bear the thought of leaving you. I may cry like a girl in front of you if you insist on staying with my brother." Drummond gave her a weak smile.
"So what do you suggest?"
"That, together with Charlie, we elope."
"Where to?"
"The moon would be preferable, but given that's even farther than my cattle station and we'd have to grow wings to get there, Kilgarra is probably the best option."
"You want me to come with you?"
"Yes, although I warn you, Kat, life out there is harsh and brutal. It makes Broome seem like the very epicenter of civilized society. The Ghan camel train passes but twice a year with supplies and the nearest settlement, Alice Springs, is a two-day ride away. There is no doctor or hospital, and only the outside dunny for necessities. There is one benefit, mind you."
"What's that?"
"The nearest neighbor's a day's ride away, so there'll be no more interminable dinner parties to face."
Kitty managed a smile, knowing Drummond was doing his best to lighten the atmosphere.
"What about Andrew? How can we do this to him? It would devastate him. Losing his wife, let alone his beloved son . . ." She shook her head. "He doesn't deserve it."
"No, he doesn't, and yes, it will hurt him deeply, particularly given that Andrew has never lost anything in his life. He was always the blighter at school that scored the final try to save the day."
"I am hardly a rugby ball and neither is Charlie." She eyed him. "Are you absolutely certain that this isn't about you winning?"
"Under the circumstances, absolutely not. I swear to you, Kat, despite my jesting, I love him. He's my twin and I'd walk a thousand miles not to hurt him, but this is life and death and it can't be helped."
"What do you mean?"
"I physically can't live without you. It's unfortunate, but there we have it. So, that's where I stand. And now, my Kitty-Kat, to use the rugby analogy, the ball is firmly in your hands. It's up to you to decide."
Once again, Kitty found herself in an agony of indecision, because it was not just her future she had to consider. If she left with Drummond, she knew that she would be denying Charlie the right to grow up with his father. Even more troubling was the thought that Andrew might try to fight her to claim Charlie back. At least there was no doubt that he adored his Uncle Drum and would have a loving uncle and father figure there to steer him as he grew. God only knew what she would tell Charlie when he was older; Kitty was well aware of the shock of discovering the bleak truth about a parent one had idolized.
Back and forth she went, even visiting the local church and kneeling to ask for guidance.
"Please, Lord, I have always been taught that God is love. And I love Drummond with every inch of my soul, but I love Charlie too . . ."
As she knelt, once more she saw her father clasping Annie's hands on the doorstep. And her poor innocent mother, also pregnant and unaware of her husband's duplicity.
"I am not a hypocrite and I cannot be a liar," she whispered to a mournful painting of angels flying the dead up to heaven. Though even now, she thought as she stood up, I am no better than my father, lying in my husband's brother's bed night after night . . .
"Lord, I may have had an epiphany," she sighed, "but I seem to have broken most of Your commandments since I did."
Outside in the sunshine, Kitty went to study the graves of the departed.
"Did you ever love like me before you left the earth?" she whispered to Isobel Dowd's remains. The poor thing had died at the age of twenty-three—the same age she was now.
Kitty closed her eyes, a deep sigh emanating from inside her. "It has gone too far already and I will not deceive my husband for the rest of our lives. Therefore"—she swallowed hard—"the Lord help me, but I must take the consequences."
"I have decided we will come with you to Kilgarra when you return from your meeting in Adelaide," Kitty said calmly as she sat with Drummond over dinner that evening.
He stared at her in surprise. "Good grief, woman! We were just discussing whether we should take Charlie to the beach for a last swim and you drop that into the conversation!"
"I thought you should know," she said, at least enjoying the stunned expression on Drummond's face.
"Yes, you're right, I should." He cleared his throat. "Well then. We'd better make a plan."
"I have also decided I shall tell Andrew myself when he returns home. I will not behave like a coward, Drummond. Camira will take Charlie out beforehand and I shall have a trunk packed and ready. I will leave immediately, collect Charlie from Camira, and we will travel to meet you, wherever that may be."
"It seems you already have it all worked out."
"I have a practical nature and I have found that in difficult situations, it helps to be organized." Kitty did not wish him to see the gamut of emotions that were swirling beneath her calm exterior.
"Am I allowed to express my complete and utter joy at your decision?" he asked her.
"You are, but I also wish to know where we should meet after I have . . . done the deed."
"Well now." Drummond snaked a hand to her across the table. "Kitty, are you sure you don't wish for me to be there with you when you tell Andrew?"
"Completely. I fear he may shoot you on the spot."
"He may well shoot you too."
"And it would be no less than I deserve." Kitty swallowed hard. "But I doubt it. Shooting his wife would certainly damage his reputation in Broome society."
They both allowed themselves a hollow smile.
"Are you sure about this, my Kat?"
"I have no choice because Andrew deserves far better than an unfaithful wife who can never love him."
"If it's any comfort, I am sure it won't be long before the pearling mothers of Broome have their dutiful daughters lined up along the path to his front door. Now, enough of that. I suggest that I still travel on to Darwin by ship, as I've already told both my father and Andrew I plan to do. Then you and Charlie make your escape on the next boat out to Darwin and meet me there."
"Andrew may come after us."
"He may, and if he does, we shall deal with it." Drummond squeezed her hand. "By then I shall be by your side."
"Must you go to Adelaide? Surely this business meeting with your father can be conducted on another suitable date?" Kitty could feel her resolve to remain unemotional slowly melting away.
"The last thing in the world I want to do is to leave you here; above all, I fear that you might change your mind while I'm gone." He gave her a grim smile. "However, in order for the three of us to have any kind of future, I must go and put my signature on the deeds to Kilgarra station and the other assets. I doubt my father will be keen to transfer them once he knows the truth."
"And what about Charlie?" Kitty felt tears pricking her eyes. "How do I explain all this to him?"
"Just tell him he is going on a trip to the outback to visit Uncle Drum and his thousands of cows. I have told him many stories about Kilgarra, and I know he is eager to see it for himself. Then"—Drummond shrugged his broad shoulders—"time passes and you simply don't return home." He paused then. "Are you sure about all this, Kat?"
"No." Kitty gave a small shake of her head as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.
"Of course not. Why should you be?"
Kitty wept softly against Drummond's shoulder the night before he left, then, as he slept, took in every inch of him and consigned it to memory. The awfulness of what she had to face between now and the next time she would see him was simply too huge to contemplate.
Their public parting on the quay the next morning was as it should have been—she kissed him chastely on both cheeks and wished him well. Any emotion she felt was subsumed by an inconsolable Charlie.
"Come and visit me soon," Drummond called as he walked up the gangplank.
"I will, Uncle Drum, I promise." Charlie was crying openly.
"I love you," he shouted back, though his eyes fell on Kitty. "I'll see you sooner than you think."
And with a last wave, Drummond disappeared from sight.
Kitty did her best to keep busy, spring-cleaning the house and even insisting Fred help her plant some rose cuttings. She had no idea whether they would take, and even if they did, she wouldn't be there to see the result.
Yet there was no doubt of her resolve. She could not continue to live a lie. It was as if her life with Andrew had been like a blister pearl—so bright and large on the surface, but at its core, nothing but dull mud. Now she and Drummond had created their own perfect pearl, its edges smooth with joy, and impenetrable love at its very center.
She received two telegrams a few days later, one from her husband, telling her he had docked safely in Adelaide and that Stefan would be returning to Broome with him and Drummond on the Koombana to see his grandson.
The other telegram was from Drummond saying the same, and adding that the "legalities" were progressing nicely. The Mercer men were due in Broome on March 22—Only ten days away, Kitty thought.
That night, she began to pack her trunk, needing to make what currently felt surreal, real.
"Whattum doing, Missus Kitty?" a voice came from behind her.
She jumped a mile in the air and wished for once that Camira did not move around with the silence of a cat.
"I'm packing away some of Charlie's baby clothes," she improvised, and let the lid of the trunk fall closed.
"But that shirt, it still fittum him good."
Kitty felt Camira watching her as she stood up. "Isn't it time the children were in bed?"
"Yessum." Camira made to walk away, then turned back toward Kitty. "I see every little thing, I knowa why you packum dat trunk. Jus' don't forget us. We come alonga you, an' Fred protect you from bad blackfellas." With that, she left the room.
Kitty shook her head in wonder and irritation. Camira seemed to intuit her inner emotional machinations by an invisible osmosis.
At night, her head spun with feverish plans as she tried to think of everything that could go wrong and factor it in. The one thing she knew for certain was that Drummond would never let her down, and once she was safely in his arms in Darwin, all would be well.
She wrote heartfelt letters to her mother and Mrs. McCrombie, asking for their forgiveness and understanding, then secreted them in the lining of the trunk. She then began a letter to Edith, but decided against it, as there was simply nothing she could say to make the situation better. Edith would at least have the comfort of knowing she'd been right all along. Kitty was her father's daughter through and through.
"I could not be more prepared," she whispered.
Another telegram arrived for her the next morning from Andrew.
WILL SURPRISE YOU ON ARRIVAL IN ALL SORTS OF WAYS STOP FATHER CAN EXPLAIN STOP LAST-MINUTE ERRAND BUT WILL BE HOME SAFE AND SOUND STOP LOVE TO YOU AND CHARLIE STOP
Kitty frowned, wondering what on earth Andrew meant, but then Charlie came in for a cuddle and a story and she thought no more about it.
The night before her planned escape, the weather was in sympathy with Kitty's roiling emotions. The clouds hung black and foreboding in the sky and thunder shook the earth, bolts of lightning tearing the sky like a ripping seam. Kitty paced the house, the shuttered windows rattling with the effort of keeping out the elements.
She rose along with the rest of the town the next day, and stepped outside in relief to see that the storm had been all bark but no bite. Her roses were still standing, and Fred commented that the winds had exhausted themselves over the Pindan sands in the south. Not that she had slept a wink—the Koombana was due to arrive in Broome that evening, and she knew that even after she had told Andrew she was leaving, there was a long and arduous journey ahead of her to Darwin. And she still felt occasionally nauseated, her stomach unsettled, which Dr. Suzuki had assured her was the aftermath of her illness.
Should I tell Andrew tonight, or perhaps tomorrow morning? Kitty asked herself for the umpteenth time. It hardly made things easier that Stefan would be here in Broome too, and she would have to wait until he was out of the way. Kitty's hands shook visibly as she washed and dressed. She found Camira in the kitchen, making eggs for Charlie's breakfast.
"You look white, like-a dem spirits up in the sky, Missus Kitty," she commented, then patted her shoulder. "Dun worry, me an' Fred, we takem care of Charlie on beach when you wanta talk to Mister Boss."
"Thank you." Kitty covered Camira's hand with her own. "And I promise to send word to you and Fred once we are safely out at Kilgarra."
"We come wid you," Camira said with a nod. "We-a here for you, Missus Kitty."
"Thank you, Camira. Truly, I do not know what I would do without you."
The Koombana was due to dock with the evening tide, but when Kitty—by now in such a state of agitation she'd had to resort to a nip of brandy to calm her nerves—reached the harbor there was no sign of the ship out in the bay.
"There's been a cyclone," the harbormaster was telling those already gathered there. "We think she might have taken shelter in Derby to wait out the storm. No point hanging around here, ladies and gents. Go to your homes and come back later."
Kitty cursed the bad weather for striking on the very day she had so carefully prepared herself for. On the train back along the jetty neighbors greeted her, making small talk about the storm the night before and how many of the boats had taken shelter. Mr. Pigott, one of Andrew's fellow pearling masters, sat down next to her.
"Hope that ship comes in soon. It's got half my family upon it. Yours too, I hear."
"Yes. You think the Koombana is safe? After all, she's the newest in the fleet."
"I'm sure she is," Mr. Pigott replied, "but it was one hell of a storm last night, Mrs. Mercer, and I've known bigger ships than the Koombana to go down before. Well, all we can do is hope for the best. And pray." He patted her hand and got up as the train came to a halt. Kitty felt the first tingle of fear creep like a silken thread up her spine.
Back at home, she paced the drawing room as Camira tried to convince her to eat, but she refused. Fred, whom she'd sent to wait on the dock and alert her to any sighting of the ship, returned home at midnight.
"No-a boat, Missus Boss."
Kitty retired to bed, but sleep refused to take her, as her mind turned over in anxiety.
The next morning, as Fred drove her toward the dock, she was swept up in crowds of people gathered in the town who were discussing the fate of the Koombana in hushed whispers. Kitty decided to follow them up the hill at the end of Dampier Terrace, where the residents peered out over Roebuck Bay.
"We don't know where she is, Mrs. Mercer," said Mr. Rubin, another pearling master. "The postmaster says he thinks the telegraph lines at Derby blew down, which is why they're not replying. There'll be news soon, I'm sure."
Beneath her, the treacherous ocean was now like a millpond, and those with binoculars reported that they could see no sign of any vessel. A number of pearl luggers were missing too, and as the heat of the day grew stronger, more friends and relatives joined the throng on the top of the hill. Kitty found herself pulled along with the crowd back down the hill to the telegraph office to question the postmaster. He told the crowd that he was continuing to send messages to the Derby office, but silence was the only response.
Finally, at sunset, a hush fell over the crowd outside the hut as the telegraph machine came to life. All that could be heard was the buzzing of insects in the dusk and the tapping of the machine.
The postmaster emerged from the hut, his face somber. He hung a notice on the board outside, then retreated.
Koombana not at Derby, said the words on the black-bordered page.
The harbormaster, Captain Dalziel, called on all the men to join in the search for the ship, and Kitty overheard Noel Donovan, the Mercer Pearling Company manager, pledging their luggers' help. Back at home, her mind fogged with terror and exhaustion, Kitty was settled into bed by Camira, who smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead.
"I stay withum you, singa to sleep," Camira soothed her as Kitty held tight to her hand, unable to voice the unbearable thoughts running through her head.
Over the next few days, as there was no further news, Kitty listened numbly to all those who came to her door to update her on the situation. Issues of the Northern Times piled up on the front doorstep as she refused to so much as look at the headlines.
Nearly two weeks after the Koombana should have docked in Broome, Kitty made her way into the kitchen. Her face fell as she saw Camira crying on Fred's shoulder.
"What is it?"
"The Koombana, Missus Kitty. It sink. Everyone lost. Everyone gone."
In retrospect, Kitty could not remember much of the rest of that day; perhaps shock had wiped her memory. She vaguely recalled Fred driving her in the cart to the harbormaster's office, where a weeping crowd was gathered. Calling for silence, Captain Dalziel read out the telegram from the Adelaide Steamship Company:
"With profound regret the company have to announce that they consider the discovery of wreckage by the SS Gorgon and SS Minderoo, which has been identified as belonging to the SS Koombana, is evidence that the Koombana was lost with all hands in the vicinity of Bedout Island, during the cyclone which raged on the twentieth and twenty-first of March . . ."
He read out the passenger list to his devastated audience.
". . . McSwain, Donald; Mercer, Andrew; Mercer, Drummond; Mercer, Stefan . . ."
Some deck chairs were found so that the women could sit. Many among the crowd had already dropped to the ground where they stood.
Mr. Pigott had been one of the first to collapse and was sobbing loudly. Unable to process any of her own thoughts or feelings, Kitty at least thanked God for the small mercy of not losing a child. Mr. Pigott had lost his wife and two daughters.
Eventually, the devastated townspeople began to stagger home to tell their relatives that there were no survivors. Captain Dalziel had mentioned that the victims' nearest and dearest were being contacted by telegram as he spoke. As Fred helped her onto the cart, Kitty mused that the only person she had to tell was her son. Nevertheless, when she arrived home, she automatically took up her fountain pen and wrote a short note of sympathy to Edith, understanding there were no words of comfort she could give to a woman who had lost her husband and two sons in one cruel twist of fate. She asked Fred to take it to the telegraph office, then went to her bedroom, closed the door behind her, and sat staring into space.
Andrew has gone.
Drummond has gone . . .
The words were meaningless. Kitty lay down fully clothed on the bed she had shared with both of them, closed her eyes, and slept.
"Charlie, darling, I need to talk to you about something."
"What is it, Mama? When is Papa coming home?"
"Well, Charlie, the thing is, Papa isn't coming home. At least, not to us anyway."
"Then where is he going?"
"Your papa, Uncle Drum, and Grandfather Mercer have been called up to heaven to be with the angels." Kitty felt the first pricking of tears behind her eyes. Having been unable to shed a tear since she'd heard the news, she knew she absolutely mustn't and couldn't cry now in front of her son. "They're special, you see, and God wanted them up there with Him."
"You mean, to be with their ancestors? With the rest of dem spirits? Mama"—Charlie wagged a finger at her—"Cat says that when someone goes up to the skies, we mustn't speak their name." He put his finger to his lips. "Shh."
"Charlie, it is perfectly all right for us to speak their names. And remember them."
"Cat says it's not—"
"I don't care what Cat says!" All of Kitty's suppressed tension bubbled over at his words. "I am your mother, Charlie, and you will listen to me!"
"Sorry, Mama." Charlie's bottom lip trembled. "So they are gone up to heaven? And we will never see them again?"
"I'm afraid not, darling. But we will always remember them," Kitty replied more gently, feeling dreadful for shouting at him at such a moment. "And they will watch over us from the skies."
"Can I go and visit them, sometimes?"
"No, darling, not yet, although one day, you will see them again."
"Maybe they'll come down here. Cat says her ancestors do that sometimes in her dreams."
"Perhaps, but you and she are different, Charlie, and . . ." Kitty shook her head. "Oh, it doesn't matter now. I am so very sorry, darling." She took Charlie in her arms and hugged him to her.
"I will miss them, 'specially Uncle Drum. He played such good games." Charlie pulled away from her and laid a hand on his mother's arm. "Remember, they are watching over us. Cat says—" Charlie stopped himself and said no more.
"Perhaps we will go and stay in Adelaide with Grandmother Edith?" Kitty tried desperately to recover her equilibrium. It seemed that her four-year-old child was comforting her.
"No." Charlie wrinkled his nose. "I like it here with Cat and Camira. They're our family."
"Yes, my brave boy." She gave him a weak smile. "They are."
Drummond is gone!
Kitty sat bolt upright, relieved to emerge from a terrible nightmare. Then, as her senses returned to her, she realized it wasn't a nightmare. Or, at least, it was, but not one that would dissipate as she was pulled back into consciousness, because Drummond would never be conscious again.
Or Andrew Spare a thought for your husband. He is dead too . . .
Or maybe, she thought, it was her that was dead; perhaps she had been sent to hell to suffer for what she had done.
"Please, Lord, don't let this be. It can't be . . ." She buried her face in the pillow to drown tearless sobs that felt like great gulps of unendurable pain.
And Andrew—what had he ever done to deserve her deception? He had loved her in the only way he knew how. Excitement? No, but did that matter? Did anything matter anymore?
"Nothing matters, nothing matters. I . . ." Kitty stuffed a handful of sheet into her mouth, realizing she was about to scream. "I am a whore, a jezebel! No better than my father! I cannot live with this, I cannot live with myself! Oh God!"
She stood up then, pacing the floor and shaking her head from side to side. "I cannot live. I cannot live!"
"Missus Kitty, come outside an' walk wid me."
Her vision was full of purple and red lights and she was dizzy but she felt an arm go around her shoulder and guide her to the front door. And then across the garden, the fresh red soil that Fred had spread feeling damp like drying blood beneath her feet.
"I'm going to scream, I must scream!"
"Missus Kitty, we will walk, wid the earth beneath us, an' we will lookum up an' we will see dem fellas lookin' down."
"I killed both of them, in different ways. I lay with a man who was not my husband, but his twin brother. I loved him! God help me, I loved him so much. I love him now . . ." Kitty sank to her knees in the earth.
Camira gently tugged her chin upward. "Understand not for you to makem destiny. Dem makem it up there." Camira pointed. "I know you lovem dat fella. Me, I lovem him too. But we not kill him, Missus Kitty. Bad things, they happen. I see-a lotta bad things. Dem fellas, they have good life. Life, it begin an' end. No one change dat."
"No one can change that." Kitty put her head on her knees and wept. "No one can change that . . ."
Eventually, when it felt as if every single drop of fluid in her body had drained out of her eyes, Camira helped her to standing.
"I take you sleepa now, Missus Kitty. The young fella needum you tomorrow. An' next day after dat."
"Yes, you're right, Camira, forgive me for my behavior. I just . . ." Kitty shook her head. There were no more words.
"In big desert, we go an' howl loud as you like at moon an' stars. Good for you, gettum bad things out. Then feel better."
Camira helped Kitty into bed, then sat next to her holding her hand. "Dunna you worry. I singa dem fellas home."
As Kitty closed her exhausted eyes, she heard Camira's high sweet voice humming a soft monotonous tune.
"God forgive me for what I have done," she murmured, before sleep finally overtook her.
## CECE
Broome, Western Australia
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol for a meeting place
## 19
I wiped the tears from my eyes and sat up, trying to still my heartbeat.
I thought about the grief I had felt for Pa when he had died and tried to multiply that by all the people that Kitty had lost on the Koombana. All the people that this town had lost . . .
I took off the headphones and rubbed my sore ears, then went to open the window for some fresh air. I tried to imagine everyone in this town assembled up on the hill at the end of Dampier Terrace, a street I had walked down, all waiting to hear the worst news of their lives.
I shut the window to block out the nighttime wildlife choir. Despite the air-conditioning being on full blast, I still felt hot and sweaty. I couldn't even begin to think how Kitty had coped here in Broome a century ago, especially in a corset, bloomers, and Christ knew how many petticoats. Never mind having to give birth in the heat—which was surely just about the sweatiest process anyone could go through.
Even if I hadn't really thought through what Kitty was to me before I arrived, there was now a bit of me that would have loved to be related to her. Not just because of her bravery in going to Australia in the first place, but also because of how she'd handled what she'd faced when she got there. Her experiences made my own problems feel like diddly-squat. To do what she'd done by living in Broome a hundred years ago took real balls. And she'd followed her heart, wherever it might have led her.
Glancing at her picture on the front of the CD cover, I couldn't imagine I was related to her, even though the solicitor had indicated my legacy had come from her originally. It was much more likely that I was related to the maid, Camira. Especially as her daughter, Alkina, apparently had the eyes of her father, who was Japanese. They sounded similar to mine.
Camira and her daughter had come from here—their footsteps had once passed along the streets I'd been walking. Tomorrow I'd try to find out more. As I lay down, I thought how this quiet little town on the edge of the earth had been brought to life for me as I listened to Kitty's story. Once upon a time, when she'd been here, it had teemed with people. I wanted to see the things she'd seen, though how much was actually left of them, I didn't know.
I was woken by the phone ringing early the next morning. It was the hotel receptionist.
"Miss D'Aplièse? There's a man waiting for you in the residents' lounge. He says he's from the Australian."
"Right, er . . . thanks. Tell him I'll be down in five."
My hand trembled as I replaced the receiver. So the press had tracked me down. Knowing there wasn't a moment to lose, I scrambled out of bed, dressed hastily, then packed the rest of my stuff into my rucksack and hoisted it onto my back. Counting out the dollars I owed for my stay, I left them with the key on the nightstand by the bed so I wouldn't be arrested for not paying my bill. Then I ran along the corridor to the emergency exit I had noticed last night when I'd seen someone having a cigarette beyond it. I gave the door bar a push, and to my relief, it opened without an alarm going off. I saw a set of basic iron steps leading down into a yard at the back of the hotel. I ran down them as quietly as I could in my heavy boots. The yard wall was low, so I threw my rucksack over it and followed suit. A few backyards later, I found myself out on the street at the other end.
Okay, what do I do now?
I called Chrissie, who answered after the first ring.
"Where are you?" I asked her, still panting hard.
"At my desk in the airport. What's up?"
"Is it easy to book a flight out of here?"
"It is if you work on the tourist info desk opposite the airline sales counter, yes. Where d'ya need to go?"
"Alice Springs. What's the best way of getting there?"
"You'll have to catch a flight up to Darwin, and connect from there to the Alice."
"Can you get me on those flights today?"
"I know there's a flight from here to Darwin in a couple of hours or so. I'll go and ask the guys if there are any seats left."
"If there are, book me on it. I'll be there as soon as I can find a taxi."
"I'll send one for you now. Walk to the bronze statues at the end of the road and he'll be there in ten."
"Thanks, Chrissie."
"No worries."
At the airport, Chrissie was hovering by the entrance doors waiting for me.
"You can tell me what's up after we've confirmed your bookings," she said as she put her arm through mine and marched me over to the Qantas check-in desk. "This is my mate Zab." Chrissie indicated the guy standing behind it. "The bookings are all ready to go. You just need to pay."
I pulled out my credit card and slapped it on the counter. Zab took the payment, then handed me my boarding passes and a receipt.
"Thanks a mill, Chrissie."
"I'll come through security with ya," she said. "We can hang out at the café and you can tell me all about Thailand."
Shit! So Chrissie knew too, which was hardly a surprise as her desk faced a kiosk. She'd probably sat there for days staring at my face on the front of all the newspapers. Yet she'd never said a word.
We went through security together to a tiny café and Chrissie came back with two bottles of water and a sandwich each. I'd chosen to sit facing a wall in the corner, just in case.
"So, why d'ya need to leave so fast?"
"A reporter from the Australian turned up at my hotel this morning. You probably know why he wanted to interview me." I eyed her.
"Yeah, I do. I recognized you the first moment you swung by my desk. And . . . ?"
"I met this guy on a beach in Thailand and hung out with him for a bit. Turns out he's wanted for some kind of bank fraud."
"Anand Changrok?"
"Or 'Ace,' as I knew him." I then told Chrissie the story of how I'd met him.
"What was he like?" she asked when I'd finished.
"Great. He helped me when I needed it."
"Were the two of you together?"
"Yeah. I really liked him, and even if I hadn't, I'd never have done something as low as that. Even if I had known who he was."
"I know you wouldn't, Cee." Chrissie's eyes were full of sympathy rather than suspicion. "So he thinks it was you who told the newspapers."
"He sent me a text saying he'd thought he could trust me. I felt like a complete lowlife, still do, but there's no way he'd ever believe me, even if I could explain. I think that this guy Jay bribed our security guard to get a photograph, and I gave him the perfect opportunity."
"You could always write to him in jail."
"Not well enough for what I'd need to say." I gave her a weak grin. "I'm dyslexic, remember?"
"I could write it for you."
"Maybe. Thanks."
"Do you think he did it?"
"How should I know? The rest of the world seems to think so. I don't know, Chrissie, there's just something that doesn't fit. Little things he said to me . . . It's only an instinct, but I think there's more to his story than he's telling."
"Maybe you should try to find out what it is."
"How would I do that? I'm not a detective and I know nothing about banks."
"You're smart, you'll find a way," she said with a smile.
I blushed, as no one had ever called me smart. "Anyway, I'm going to concentrate on finding out more about my family."
"Hey, if you need a fellow detective to help you out in the Alice, I'm your gal," Chrissie said suddenly. "I'm due some hols anyway, and it's a quiet time of year here, so how about I meet up with ya there?"
"Really? I mean, I don't want to take up your time, but if you can manage it, it would be amazing to have your help," I said, genuinely excited at the thought. "You've seen how clueless I am about all things Australia."
"Nah, mate, you just need someone to show you the ropes. It'll be bonza and I've always wanted to go to the Alice." Chrissie glanced up at the board. "Time ta go."
"I hate planes," I said as she walked with me over to the departure gate.
"Do ya? I've always wanted to go and see the rest of the world. I'll text you once I know for sure I can come and meet you." She put her arms around me. "Safe journey."
"Thanks for everything."
Boarding the plane, I felt suddenly lost, because I had made a friend in Chrissie. I just had to make sure I didn't muck it up like I had with Ace.
As we began our descent toward Alice Springs, I saw a marked change in the landscape below me. From the sky, it looked like a green oasis in the desert—which I supposed it was—but far more dramatic in color. I saw a range of mountains that glinted purple in the hazy light, their irregular crowns like a massive set of teeth sticking up from the ground. The plane screeched to a fast and jerky halt on the short runway and all us passengers trooped off down the steps onto the tarmac.
"Wow!" I muttered as a wave of burning heat that I could probably have lit a match with just by sticking it in the air hit me. It burned my nostrils as I breathed in and I was actually glad to get inside the air-conditioned terminal.
The airport wasn't much bigger than the one in Broome, but it was buzzing with tourists. After grabbing a bottle of water and a few leaflets for hotels and places of interest, I sat down on a plastic chair to try to read them before I decided where to stay. I realized all the tourists were here because Alice Springs was the gateway to Ayers Rock—or Uluru, as Chrissie had said it was called by the Aboriginal people. The leaflet said it was one of their most sacred sites and "only" a six-hour drive away.
I then read about Alice Springs—or "the Alice," as it was affectionately called. Indigenous art was obviously a very big deal here. There were several galleries both inside and outside town, ranging from the Many Hands Art Centre, run by Aboriginal artists, to the Araluen Arts Centre—so modern it looked like a spaceship that had crash-landed in the middle of the desert.
Another tremor of excitement ran through me and some instinct told me that if I was going to find answers anywhere, it was going to be here.
"My kantri," I murmured, remembering Chrissie's granny saying the word. I then opened the leaflet on the Hermannsburg mission, which told me it was now a museum and a good couple of hours' drive out of town. It also said Albert Namatjira had been born there. I had never even heard of him until yesterday, but I'd seen from the leaflets that his name was used for galleries, streets, and buildings here. I tried to read more, but the words were doing a polka on the page, especially as most of them were Aboriginal names.
I then remembered I should turn my phone back on, and two messages pinged through, both from Chrissie.
Hi! Sorted you a hotel—just ask Keith at the tourist info desk at ASP airport and he'll give you the deets! C x
Just spoke to the Qantas desk. The staff r giving me a trip for free as a pressie for all the flights I've sorted for tourists. STOKED!! Land tomorrow arvo.
See you then!! x
I was amazed that this girl I hardly knew was making the effort to fly hundreds of miles to meet me. And even if I never found out who my family were, coming to Australia had been worth it, because I'd met Chrissie.
I walked across the concourse to the tourist information desk, where a tall freckled man with blond hair down to his shoulders was sitting at a computer.
"Hi, are you Keith?" I asked.
"Yeah, who's askin'?"
"I think my friend Chrissie in Broome spoke to you earlier—she said you've got a hotel reservation for me?"
"Ah, Chrissie's mate, CeCe! I've got youse a special deal. Here we go." He handed me the booking sheet. "Just take a taxi to Leichhardt Terrace, next to the Todd River."
"Thanks for all your help."
"Any friend of Chrissie's," he said with a friendly grin. "Have a good un!"
In the taxi, I marveled at the easy way Chrissie had with everyone she met. She seemed totally comfortable in her own skin, with who she was.
By the grace of God, I am who I am . . .
For the first time, Pa Salt's quotation on the armillary sphere began to make sense, because that was how I wanted to be too.
Half an hour later, I was installed in a "deluxe room," which at least had a decent shower and a kettle. I looked out of the window expecting to see a river, like Keith had said, but was surprised to find only a dry, sandy riverbed with a few gnarled trees dotted around. It suddenly struck me that I was in the middle of the desert.
Dusk was falling when I ventured outside, and I realized the air smelled different here—dry and fragrant, rather than the soupy humidity of Broome. I walked along a bridge that crossed the Todd riverbed and had a solitary pizza in a restaurant full of families chatting and laughing. I missed Chrissie's company and felt really happy she was joining me tomorrow.
I wandered back to the hotel and spotted a newspaper on a coffee table in the reception area. I picked it up and saw it was a day-old English Times and wondered if there were any more developments on the Ace situation. The story had been demoted to a much smaller headline on the front page:
### CHANGROK PLEADS GUILTY TO FRAUD
There was a photograph of Ace—or at least the back of his head and shoulders—entering court and surrounded by an angry crowd. I could read the "full story on page 7," so I took the newspaper up to my room and tried to decipher the words.
Anand Changrok appeared at Woolwich Crown Court today, charged with fraud. Looking thin and haggard, Mr. Changrok pleaded guilty to all charges. Bail was not granted by the judge and Mr. Changrok is being remanded in custody until his sentencing hearing, expected to take place in May. Outside the court, hundreds of Berners Bank customers threw eggs at him, waving banners demanding for their losses to be compensated.
The chief executive of Berners, Mr. David Rutter, has sought to allay their fears.
"We are aware of the sad and difficult situation our customers find themselves in. We continue to do everything in our power to compensate those affected."
Asked how Mr. Changrok could cover up the losses for so long and about his subsequent plea of guilty today, Mr. Rutter declined to comment.
I climbed into bed and eventually fell into a troubled sleep, picturing Ace curled up on a thin prison-issue mattress.
I woke with a jolt to the sound of the telephone ringing, and answered it blearily.
" 'Lo?"
"Cee!"
"Chrissie?"
"Yeah, I'm here! Come on, sleepyhead, it's half three in the afternoon already! I'll be up in a sec."
There was a click as she hung up and I rolled out of bed to get dressed. A few minutes later, I heard her put the key in the lock, and the door opened.
"Hi, darl'. Good ta see you." Chrissie greeted me with a bright smile and dropped her rucksack on the other twin bed.
"You're cool bunking in with me, right? Keith said there weren't any other rooms available."
"No problem, I've shared a room with my sister my whole life."
"Lucky you. I had to share with my two brothers." Chrissie laughed, then wrinkled her nose. "It always stank of 'boy,' y'know?"
"I have five sisters, remember? Our corridor stank of perfume."
"That's almost as bad," she said with a grin. "Here, I brought some snacks as well."
She handed me a plastic box and I opened it to find square-shaped chocolate-covered cakes doused in coconut sprinkles. They smelled heavenly.
"Go on," she urged. "They're lamingtons, I made them myself. Have one for brekky, then we can go out and explore."
With my mouth full of delicious cake, which tasted like a Victoria sponge with bells on, we went outside, where the late afternoon sun was overpowering, beating fire down onto the top of my head. From the map, it looked as if Alice Springs was easy to navigate, being so small. We walked down Todd Street, lined with one-story art galleries, nail salons, and cafés with chairs set out under the palm trees. We stopped for a drink and a bite to eat at one of them, and I noticed a huge dot painting hanging in the window of the gallery opposite.
"Wow, look, Chrissie! It's the Seven Sisters!"
"They're big around here," she said with a grin. "Better not mention you're named after one of them, or you'll get the locals coming to build a shrine around you!"
After reassurance from Chrissie, I tried my first plate of kangaroo meat, thinking that Tiggy would never forgive me if she ever found out. She'd had a real thing about "Baby Roo" in the Winnie the Pooh stories Pa used to read us, and it had been around that time she'd decided to become a vegetarian.
"What do ya think of the 'roo?" Chrissie nudged me.
"It's good, a bit like venison. Aren't they an endangered species?"
"Strewth, no, there's thousands of 'em bouncing all over Australia."
"I've never seen one."
"You're sure to see 'em around here, there's loads in the outback. So, have you had a chance to find out more about Albert Namatjira yet?" Chrissie looked at me, her bright eyes expectant.
"No, I only got here yesterday, remember? And I don't really know where to start."
"Well, I'd reckon it's a trip out to the Hermannsburg mission tomorrow. It's some miles out of town, though, so we'll have to drive."
"I don't drive," I admitted.
"I do, as long as it's an automatic. If you have the dollars to hire the transport, I'll be your chauffeur. Deal?"
"Deal. Thanks, Chrissie," I said gratefully.
"Y'know, if you are really related to Namatjira, they'll defo be making a shrine to you around here, and I'll help them! I can't wait to see your stuff, Cee. You oughtta get yourself some canvas and brushes, have a go at painting the scenery around here, like Namatjira did."
"Maybe, but my artwork has been crap for the past six months."
"Get over yourself, Cee. No one gets into one of the top art colleges in London painting crap," retorted Chrissie, forking up the last of her kangaroo.
"Well, the paintings I did at college were. The lecturers mucked with my head somehow. Now I'm not sure what I should be painting," I admitted.
"I get it." Chrissie put a warm hand on mine. "Maybe you need ta know who you are before you find out what you want to paint."
After our meal, Chrissie waved a tourist leaflet in my face.
"How about we go up to Anzac Hill?" she suggested. "It's just a short hike, and it's meant to have the best view of Alice Springs and the sunset."
I didn't tell her that I'd already had my fill of sunsets on this trip, but her energy was infectious, so we trooped out into the heat and began to scale the hill at an easy pace.
Up at the top, photographers were already fiddling about with tripods ready to capture the sunset and we found a quiet spot facing west to sit down. I looked at Chrissie as she watched the sunset, her expression one of contentment as soft hues of gold and purple light tinged her face. Below us, Alice Springs lit up with twinkling streetlights, and the sun settled behind the mountains, leaving only a dark red line against the indigo sky.
After a pit stop for a Coke in town on the way back, we returned to the hotel and Chrissie offered me the first shower. As I felt the cool stream of water drenching my sweaty skin, I tipped my face up into it and smiled. It was great to have Chrissie with me because she was so enthusiastic about everything. Wrapping a towel around me, I padded back into the bedroom and did a double take. Somehow, in the ten minutes I'd been gone, Chrissie's right leg seemed to have fallen off, leaving her with only a tiny piece of it below the knee. The rest of the leg sat a few inches away from her.
"Yeah, I've got a 'falsie,' " she said casually as I gawked at it.
"How? When?"
"Since I was fifteen. I got really crook one night, but my mum didn't trust the whitefella doctor, so she just gave me a couple of Tylenol for my fever. The next morning, she found me unconscious in bed. I don't remember anything about it, but I was airlifted to Darwin by the Flying Doctor Service, and diagnosed with meningitis in the hospital there. It was too late to save my leg 'cause septicemia had started to set in, but at least I came out with my life. I'd reckon that was a pretty good swap, wouldn't you?"
"I . . . yes, if you look at it that way," I agreed, still in shock.
"No point in looking at it any other way, is there? And I get about pretty well. You didn't notice, did ya?"
"No, though I did wonder why you always wear jeans when I sweat like a pig in a pair of shorts."
"Only bummer is that I used to be the best swimmer in Western Australia. Won the junior championships a coupla times and was gonna try out for the 2000 Olympic squad in Sydney. Me and Cathy Freeman showing the world what us Aboriginals could do." Chrissie gave a tight smile. "Anyway, that's in the past," she said as she pulled herself to standing without a single wobble, as though she had just planted both feet firmly on the ground to take her weight. "Right, my turn to take a shower." She deftly used both of her strong arms to grasp furniture and swung herself toward the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I sank down onto the bed, feeling as though my own legs had turned to puddles of porridge. My brain—and heart—raced at a million thoughts and beats per second as I ran through a gamut of emotions: guilt, for ever feeling sorry for myself when not only was I incredibly privileged but also able-bodied; anger that this woman hadn't received the kind of immediate medical care she'd needed. And, most of all, sheer awe for the way Chrissie accepted her lot, and her courage and bravery in getting on with her life, when she could have spent the rest of it feeling sorry for herself. As I had done recently . . .
The door to the bathroom opened and Chrissie, wrapped in a towel, made her way back effortlessly to her bed and dug in her overnight bag for a pair of pants and a T-shirt.
"What?" She turned around and saw my eyes on her. "Why ya staring at me like that?"
"I just want to say that I think you're incredible. The way you came through . . . that." I tentatively pointed to the missing limb.
"I just never wanted it to define me, y'know? Didn't want the missing bit to be who I was. Mind you, it did have some benefits." She laughed as she climbed into bed.
"Like what?"
"When I applied for uni, I got a full house of offers."
"You probably deserved them."
"Whether I did or didn't, I could take my pick. A disabled Aboriginal person manages to tick two boxes on the government quota forms. The unis were fighting over me."
"That sounds seriously cynical," I responded as I too got into bed.
"Maybe, but it was me who got the chance of a great education, and I made the most of it. So who's the winner here?" she asked as she reached to switch off the bedside light.
"You," I replied.
You . . . with all your positivity and strength and zest for life.
I lay there in the darkness, feeling her alien but familiar energy only a few feet away.
"Night, Cee," she said. "I'm glad I'm here."
I smiled. "So am I."
## 20
You gonna wake up or what?"
I felt someone's breath on my face and struggled to rise to consciousness through the deep fug of my usual late-morning sleep.
"Christ, Cee, we've wasted half the morning already!"
"Sorry." I opened my eyes and saw Chrissie sitting on the bed opposite me, a hint of irritation on her face. "I'm a late sleeper by nature."
"Well, in the past three hours, I've eaten brekky, taken a wander around the town, and hired us a car that you need to pay for at reception. We need to leave for Hermannsburg, like, pronto."
"Okay, sorry again." I threw back the sheet and staggered upright. Chrissie watched me quizzically as I pulled on my shorts and rooted in my rucksack for a clean T-shirt.
"What's up?" I asked her as her eyes followed me to the mirror, where I ran a hand through my hair.
"Do you often have nightmares?" she asked.
"Yeah, sometimes. My sister told me I did anyway," I said casually. "Sorry if I disturbed you."
"You don't remember them?"
"Some of them, yes. Right," I said, shoving my wallet into my shorts pocket, "let's go to Hermannsburg."
As we drove out of town onto a wide, straight road surrounded by red earth on either side, the sun beat down on our tiny tin-can car. I was amazed it didn't explode from the heat it was enduring.
"What are they called?" I asked, pointing to the jagged mountains in the distance.
"The MacDonnell Ranges," said Chrissie without missing a beat. "Namatjira did lotsa paintings of them."
"They look purple."
"That's the color he painted them."
"Oh, right." Then I wondered if I could ever paint a realistic representation of what I saw in the world. "How does anyone ever survive out here?" I mused, looking out of the window at the vast open landscape. "Like, there's nothing for miles and miles."
"They adapt, simple as that. Did you ever read Darwin?"
"Read it? I thought Darwin was a city."
"It is, idiot, but a bloke called Darwin also wrote books—the most famous was called On the Origin of Species. He talks about how all the plants and flowers and animals and humans have adapted to their surroundings over millennia."
I turned to look at Chrissie. "You're a secret science nerd, aren't you?"
"Nope." Chrissie shook her head firmly. "I'm just interested in what made us, that's all. Aren't you?"
"Yeah, that's why I'm here in Australia."
"I'm not talking about our families. I mean, what really made us. And why."
"You're sounding like my sister Tiggy. She goes on about a higher power."
"I'd like to meet your sister. She sounds cool. What does she do?"
"She works up in Scotland at a deer sanctuary."
"That sounds worthwhile."
"She thinks so."
"It's good for the soul to be responsible for something or someone. Like, when our Aboriginal boys have their initiation, they're circumcised and then given a stone—it's called a tjurunga—and on it is a special marking showing them what they need to look after in the bush. Could be a water hole or a sacred cave, or maybe a plant or an animal. Whatever it is, it's their responsibility to protect and care for it. There used to be a human chain all the way across the outback that had a responsibility to look after the necessities. The system kept our tribes alive as they crossed the desert."
"That sounds incredible," I breathed. "Like the traditions actually have a point. So, do only boys get one of those tju—"
"Tjurunga stones. Yeah, only men get one—women and children aren't allowed to touch them."
"That's a bit unfair."
"It is," she said with a shrug, "but we women have our own sacred traditions too, that we keep separate from the men. My grandma took me out bush when I was thirteen, and I'm not joking, I was scared shitless, but actually, it was really cool. I learned some useful stuff, like how to use my digging stick to find water or insects, which plants are edible and how to use them. And"—Chrissie tugged at her ears—"by the time I came back, I could hear someone sneeze from halfway down the street and tell ya exactly who it was. Out there, we were listening for danger, or the trickle of water nearby, or voices in the distance that would guide us back to our family."
"It sounds amazing. I've always loved that sort of stuff."
"Look!" Chrissie shouted suddenly. "There's a buncha 'roos!"
Chrissie steered the car onto the dusty verge of the road and slammed on the brakes, flinging our heads backward into their rests.
"Sorry, but I didn't want ya to miss them. Gotta camera?"
"Yup."
The kangaroos were much larger than I'd been expecting and Chrissie encouraged me into silly poses in front of them. As we walked back to the car, swatting away the interminable flies that investigated our skin, I couldn't help remembering the last time I'd used my camera and what had happened to the roll of film inside it. Standing in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of kangaroos and Chrissie, Thailand seemed a world away.
"How far now?" I asked as we set off again.
"Forty minutes, tops, I reckon."
And it was at least that before we finally turned off a dirt track and saw a cluster of whitewashed buildings. There was a hand-painted wooden sign telling us we'd arrived at Hermannsburg mission.
As we climbed out, I saw that we—and the occupants of a pickup truck parked close to the entrance—were the only humans who had arrived by car. I wasn't surprised. The small cluster of huts was surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness, like the surface of Mars. I noticed it was almost completely silent, not a whisper of a breeze, just the occasional buzzing of insects. Even I, who liked peace and wide open spaces, felt isolated there.
We walked toward the entrance and ducked inside the tin-roofed bungalow, our eyes slowly adjusting after the blinding sunshine.
"G'day," said Chrissie to the man standing behind the counter.
"G'day. Just the two of youse?"
"Yeah."
"That'll be nine dollars each."
"Quiet here today," Chrissie commented as I paid him.
"Don't get many tourists out here in the heat this time-a year."
"I bet. This is my friend Celaeno. She's got a pic she wants to show you." Chrissie nudged me and I pulled out the photograph and gave it to the man. He glanced at it, then his eyes swept over me.
"Namatjira. How did you come by this pic?"
"It was sent to me."
"Who from?"
"A lawyer's office in Adelaide. They're in the process of tracing the original sender for me as I'm trying to find my birth family."
"I see. So, what ya wanna know?"
"I'm not sure," I said, feeling like I was a fraud or something. Maybe the guy faced possible "relatives" of Namatjira here every day.
"She was adopted when she was a baby," put in Chrissie.
"Right."
"My dad died a few months ago, and he told me I'd been left some money," I explained. "When I went to see his Swiss lawyer, that photograph was in the envelope he gave me. I decided I should come here to Australia and find out who'd sent me the picture. I spoke to the lawyer in Adelaide, but I'd no idea who Namatjira was, hadn't ever even heard of him before, and—" I rambled on until Chrissie put a hand on my arm and took over.
"CeCe's basically come here 'cause I recognized Namatjira in the picture. She thinks it might be a clue to who her parents originally were."
The man studied the photograph again.
"It's definitely Namatjira, and I'd say the pic was taken at Heavitree Gap, sometime in the mid-1940s, when Albert got his pickup truck. As ta who the boy is standing next to him, I dunno."
"Well, why don't me and Cee take a look around the place?" suggested Chrissie. "Maybe you could have a think. D'you have archives here?"
"We have ledgers of every baby that was born here or brought to us at the mission. And a crate-load of black-an'-white pictures like that." The man pointed to my photo. "It would take me days ta go through them, though."
"No pressure, mister. We'll just go take a look around." Chrissie shepherded me past a postcard stack and a fridge full of cold drinks to the sign that proclaimed the entrance to the museum. We walked down another dusty path and found ourselves out in a large open space, surrounded by what was a vague L shape of white huts.
"Right, let's start in the chapel." Chrissie pointed to the building.
We wandered across the red earth and stepped inside the tiny chapel with rickety benches acting as pews, and a large picture of Christ on the cross hanging over the pulpit.
"So, this guy called Carl Strehlow came to this mission to try to get the Aboriginals to turn to Christianity." Chrissie paraphrased for me as she read the words on the information board. "He arrived from Germany with his family in 1894. It started out just like a regular Christian mission, but then he and the next pastor became fascinated with the local Arrernte culture and traditions," Chrissie explained while I stared at rows of dark faces in the pictures, all dressed in white.
"Who are the Arrernte?"
"The local Aboriginal mob."
"Do they still live around here?" I queried.
"Yeah, in fact, it says that in 1982 the land was officially returned to them, so Hermannsburg now belongs to the traditional owners."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's awesome. Come on, let's go see the rest."
A long building with a tin roof turned out to be a schoolhouse that still had words and pictures scrawled on the blackboard. "It also says here that no half-caste Aboriginal was ever brought here by force by the Protectorate. Everyone came and went of their own free will."
"But were they actually made to become Christians?"
"It doesn't exactly say that because they'd all have had to attend services and Bible readings, but apparently the pastors turned a blind eye if they wanted to celebrate their own culture."
"So actually, they believed—or pretended to—in two different religions?"
"Yup. A bit like me," said Chrissie, grinning. "And all the rest of our mob in Oz. Come on, let's go and have a sticky-beak at Namatjira's hut."
The hut was comprised of a few basic concrete rooms, and I recognized Namatjira's face in a picture on the mantelpiece. He was a big man with strong, heavy features, grinning and squinting in the sun, standing next to a demure woman in a head scarf.
" 'Albert and Rosie,' " I read. "Who was Rosie?"
"His wife. Her given name was Rubina. They had nine children, although four of them died before Albert did."
"I can't believe they needed a fire in this heat," I said, pointing at the fireplace in the photo.
"Trust me, it gets pretty cold at night in the Never Never."
A painting on the wall caught my eye and I went to study it.
"Is this by Namatjira himself?" I asked Chrissie.
"It says it is, yeah."
I stared at it, fascinated, for, rather than looking like a typical Aboriginal painting, this was a beautifully formed watercolor landscape with a white ghost gum tree to one side of it, then gorgeously soft colors depicting a vista that was backed by the purple MacDonnell Ranges. It reminded me of an Impressionist painting and I wondered how and where this man who had grown up in the middle of nowhere—Aboriginal by birth, Christian in life—had found his particular style.
"Not what you were expecting?" Chrissie stood next to me.
"No, because most of the Aboriginal art we saw in town was traditional dot paintings."
"Namatjira was taught by a white painter called Rex Battarbee, who was influenced by the Impressionists and came out here to paint the scenery. Albert learned how to paint watercolors from him."
"Wow, I'm impressed. You know your stuff, don't you?"
"Only 'cause I'm interested. I told you that art—especially Namatjira's—is a passion of mine."
As I followed her out of the hut, I thought how art had been a passion of mine too, but recently it had got lost somewhere along the way. I realized that I really wanted it back.
"I need the toilet," I said as we went back out into the glaring heat of the day.
"The dunny's over there." Chrissie pointed. I walked across the courtyard toward it and saw an illustrated sign hung outside on the door.
SNAKES LIKE WATER! KEEP THE LIDS DOWN!
I had the quickest pee of my life and bolted back outside, feeling sweatier than when I'd gone in.
"We should make a move," said Chrissie. "Let's go and grab some water for the journey back."
Inside the hut that comprised the ticket office and gift shop, Chrissie and I went to the till to pay.
"You got that photo, miss?" said the man we'd met on the way in. "Reckon I could show it to one of the elders. They're due here for our monthly meeting tomorra night. They might recognize the boy Namatjira's standing next ta. The eldest is ninety-six and as sharp as a tack. Brought up here, he was."
"Er . . ." I looked at Chrissie uncertainly. "Would we have to drive back out here to get it?"
"I'll be in the Alice on Saturday, so I can always drop it back to ya if ya give me your mobile number and the address of where you're staying."
"Okay," I said, seeing Chrissie nod at me in encouragement, so I handed it to him, then scribbled down the details he'd requested.
"Don't worry, love, I'll keep it safe for ya," the man said with a smile.
"Thanks."
"Safe drive home," he called as we left.
"So, did you feel anything?" Chrissie asked as we set off along the wide, deserted road back to civilization.
"What do you mean?"
"Did any instinct tell ya that ya might have come from Hermannsburg?"
"I'm not sure I 'do' instincts, Chrissie."
"Sure you do, Cee. We all do. You just gotta trust 'em a bit more, y'know?"
As we drew near Alice Springs, the sun was doing the perfect curtsy, bowing down at the end of the MacDonnell Ranges, casting shards of light onto the red desert beneath it.
"Stop here!" I ordered suddenly.
Chrissie did one of her sharp brakes and pulled the car over to the side of the road.
"Sorry, but I just need to take a photo."
"No worries, Cee."
I grabbed my camera, opened the door, and crossed the road.
"Oh my God! It's glorious," I said as I snapped away, and out of the blue I felt my fingers begin to tingle, which was the signal my body gave me when I needed to paint something. It was a sensation I hadn't had for a very long time.
"You look happy," Chrissie commented as I climbed back in.
"I am," I said, "very."
And I meant it.
The next morning, I woke up when I heard Chrissie tiptoeing around the room. Normally, I'd have dozed off again, but today, some kind of weird anticipation forced me out of bed.
"Sorry I woke you. I was just going down to get some brekky."
"It's okay, I'll come with you."
Over a strong cup of coffee and bacon and eggs, with a side of fruit to salve my conscience, we discussed what we would do for the rest of the day. Chrissie wanted to go and see the permanent Namatjira exhibition at the Araluen Arts Centre, but I had other ideas because I'd realized what it was that had woken me up so early.
"The thing is . . . well, I got inspired on the drive home yesterday. I was wondering if you'd mind taking me back to that spot where I took the pics of the sun setting last night? I'd like to have a go at painting it."
Chrissie's face lit up. "That's fantastic news. Course I'll drive ya there."
"Thanks, though I need to find some paper and paints."
"You're in luck here," Chrissie said, pointing out of the window and indicating the number of galleries along the street. "We'll pop into one of them and find out where they get their gear."
After breakfast, we walked along the street and into the first gallery we came to. Inside, Chrissie asked the woman on reception where I could find paper and paints, adding that I was a student from the Royal College of Art in London.
"D'you wanna stay here an' paint?" The woman pointed to a large room to the side of the gallery, where a number of Aboriginal artists were working at tables or on the floor. Light spilled in from the many windows, and there was a small kitchenette area where someone was making a round of coffee. It looked far more cozy than the shared workrooms at my old art college.
"No, she's planning to go bush, aren't you, Cee?" Chrissie winked at me. "Her real name's Celaeno," Chrissie added for good measure.
"Righto." The receptionist gave me a smile. "I have some oils and canvases, or does she paint with watercolors?" she asked, glancing over me to Chrissie as though they were discussing a four-year-old child.
"Both," I said, interrupting, "but I'd really like to try watercolors today."
"Okay, I'll see what I can find."
The woman stepped out from behind the counter, and I saw a sizeable bump under her yellow kaftan. While she was away, I wandered around the gallery, looking at the traditional Aboriginal works.
The walls were bursting with different depictions of the Seven Sisters. Dots, slashes, strange-looking shapes that the artists had used to depict the girls and their "old man"—Orion, who chased them through the skies. I'd always felt embarrassed about being named after a weird Greek myth and a set of stars a few million light-years away, but today it made me feel special and proud. Like I was part of them, had a special connection. And here in the Alice, I felt like I was in their high temple.
I also loved the fact that I was standing among a bunch of artists whom I'd have bet my posh riverside apartment in London hadn't attended art school. Yet here they all were, painting what they felt. And doing a good trade too, judging by the number of tourists milling around the gallery and watching them at work.
"Here ya go, Celaeno." The woman handed me an old tin of watercolors, a couple of used brushes, some tape, a sheaf of paper, and a wooden-backed canvas. "You any good?" she asked me as I fumbled for my wallet to pay.
"She's brilliant," chirped Chrissie before I'd opened my mouth to speak, just like she was my agent. "You should see some of her work."
I blushed red under my sweaty skin. "How much for the paints and paper?" I asked her.
"How about a swap? You bring me a painting, and if it's good, I'll hang it in the gallery and share the profits. My name's Mirrin, and I run the gallery for the bossman."
"Really? That's kind of you but—"
"Thanks a mill, Mirrin," interrupted Chrissie again. "We'll do that, won't we, Cee?"
"I . . . yeah, thanks."
In the blinding sunlight outside the gallery, I rounded on her. "Jesus, Chrissie, you've never seen anything that I've painted! I've always been rubbish at watercolors, and this was just an experiment, like a bit of fun and—"
"Shut up, Cee. I know you're great already." She tapped where her heart was. "You just need to get yer confidence back."
"But that woman," I panted from agitation and heat, "she's going to be expecting me to bring something to her and—"
"Listen, if it's crap, we'll just return the paints and pay for the paper, okay? But it won't be, Cee, I know it won't."
On the drive out of town, Chrissie decided to give me a lecture on how Namatjira approached his painting.
"You said yesterday that you were surprised that he painted landscapes, 'cause most Aboriginal artists paint using symbols to depict Dreamtime stories."
"Yeah, I was," I said.
"Well, look closer, because Namatjira does the same, just in a different form. I need ta show you what I mean exactly, but when you look at the ghost gums he paints, they're never just a tree. There's all kinds of symbolism painted into them. He tells the Dreamtime stories in his landscapes. Understand?"
"I think so."
"He drew the human form into nature, so if you look closely, the knots in a mulga tree are eyes, and there's one of his paintings where the composition of the landscape—the sky, the hills and trees—all shift and morph, so you're suddenly looking at the figure of a woman lying on the earth."
"Wow!" I tried to picture this. "Ever thought of doing something with your art knowledge, Chrissie?"
"Like, on a quiz show with 'Australian artists of the twentieth century' as my pet subject?" she chuckled.
"No, I mean, professionally."
"Are you kidding me? The guys that run the art world have studied for years to be curators or agents. Who'd want me?"
"I would," I said. "You did a great selling job today. Besides, that woman in the gallery didn't look as if she had a million degrees in art, yet she was running the joint."
"True enough. Right, we're here. Where d'you want to set up?"
Chrissie helped me spread out the blanket and cushions we'd sneaked out of the hotel room. We sat down in the shade of a ghost gum and drank some water.
"I'll take a wander for a while, shall I? Leave you be?"
"Yeah, thanks." Unlike the artists in that gallery, I wasn't anywhere near the stage of being able to paint while someone else watched. I sat cross-legged, with the sheet of paper taped onto the wooden-backed canvas. Panic clutched at me, just as it had every time I'd tried to pick up a paintbrush in the past few months.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the hot air, vaguely scented by a minty, almost medicinal, smell that was coming from the gum tree I was leaning against. I thought of who I was—Pa Salt's daughter, one of the Seven Sisters themselves—and imagined that I had flown down to earth from the heavens and stepped out of the cave into this magnificent, sunlit landscape . . .
I opened my eyes, dipped my brush into the water bottle, mixed it with some color, and began to paint.
"How ya doing?"
I jumped, nearly spilling the sludge-colored water in the bottle all over the painting.
"Sorry, Cee. You were lost in your own little world, weren't ya?" Chrissie apologized as she bent to stand the water bottle back upright. "You hungry yet? You've been painting for a good coupla hours."
"Have I?" I felt drowsy, as though I'd just woken up from a deep sleep.
"Yeah. I've been sitting in the car with the air-con on full blast for the past forty minutes. Strewth, it's hot out here. I brought ya a bottle of cold water from the car." Chrissie handed it to me, and I gulped back the liquid, feeling disoriented. "Well?" Chrissie regarded me quizzically.
"Well what?"
"How'd it go?"
"Er . . ."
I couldn't answer, because I didn't know. I looked down at the paper resting on my knees and was amazed to see that what looked like a fully formed painting had somehow arrived onto it.
"Wow, Cee . . ." Chrissie peered over my shoulder before I had time to stop her. "Just . . . wow! Oh my God!" She clasped her hands together in delight. "I knew it! That's bloody amazing! Especially considering you've only got that crappy little tin of watercolors to work with."
"I wouldn't go that far," I said as I studied the picture. "I haven't got the perspective of the MacDonnell Ranges quite right, and the sky is a bit of a muddy blue because I must have run out of clean water at some point."
But even as I looked at it, I knew that it was far and away the best watercolor I'd ever painted.
"Is that a cave?" Chrissie had crouched down next to me. "It looks like there's a shadowy figure standing in the entrance."
I looked closer and saw she was right. There was a blurry cloud of white, like a wisp of smoke coming out of a chimney. "Yeah," I said, though I couldn't really remember painting it.
"And those two gnarly bits on the ghost gum's bark—they look like eyes secretly watching the figure. Cee! You only went and did it!" Chrissie threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly.
"Did I? I've no idea how."
"That doesn't matter. The point is, you did do it."
"Well, it does matter if I ever want to do it again. And it's definitely not perfect." As always when people told me I was good at something, my critical eye began to examine it more closely and see its faults. "Look, the gum tree branches are unbalanced, and the leaves are really splodgy and not quite the right green. And—"
"Whoa!" Chrissie drew the painting from my knee and out of my reach as if she was afraid I was about to rip it to shreds. "I know artists are their own worst critics, but it's down to the audience ta decide whether it's good or bad. And as I'm the audience and a secret art nerd, especially on paintings like this, I am telling you that you just painted something great. I gotta take a piccie of this, have you got your camera?"
"Yeah, in the car."
After taking a number of photographs, we packed up and headed back to town. All the way to the Alice, Chrissie talked about the painting. In fact, she didn't just talk about it, she analyzed it to death.
"The most exciting thing of all is that ya took Namatjira's style and made it your own. That little wisp coming outta the cave; the eyes hidden in the tree, watching it; the six clouds sailing off into the sky . . ."
"I was thinking about when your granny told me the Dreamtime story of the Seven Sisters just before I started to paint," I admitted.
"I knew it! But I didn't want to say so until you did. Somehow, just like Namatjira, you managed to paint another layer into a gorgeous landscape. But in your own way, Cee. He used symbols, and you've used a story. It's awesome! I'm rapt!"
I sat there next to her, half enjoying her praise and half wishing she'd shut up. I understood she was trying to be supportive, but my cynical voice told me that however knowledgeable she seemed to be on Namatjira, she was hardly an art expert. And beyond that, if the painting did show promise, could I ever replicate it again?
She parked the car along the main street, and we went back to the café where we'd had the good kangaroo. I ordered burgers for us as I listened to her rabbit on.
"You're gonna have ta learn to drive, because you need ta go out there again. And I've got to fly back to Broome early tomorrow morning." Her eyes darkened. "I really don't wanna. I love the Alice. So many people told me bad stories about it, about the problems between us lot and the whites. And yeah, I'm sure some of them are true, but the art movement here is just amazing, and we haven't even started on Papunya Tula yet."
"What's that?"
"Another school of art that came just after Namatjira's time. Like, most of the dot paintings you saw in the gallery earlier."
I tried to suppress an almighty yawn, but failed miserably. I didn't understand why I felt so exhausted.
"Listen, why don't you go back to the hotel and grab a kip?" she suggested.
"Yeah, I might," I said, too sleepy to object. "You coming with me?"
"Nah, I thought I might take a wander to see the Namatjiras in the Araluen Arts Centre."
"Okay." I put the necessary dollars to cover the lunch on the table and stood up. "See you back at the ranch."
I came to a couple of hours later and sat bolt upright.
Where's the painting? I thought immediately as I shook myself into wakefulness. My mind searched its memory files, and I realized that we'd left it in the boot of the car when we'd gone to find lunch.
And the car was due back to the rental company at six this evening . . .
"Shit!" I swore as I looked at the time on the clock and saw it was nearing half past seven. What if Chrissie had forgotten about it? I pulled on my boots and ran down the stairs, which probably took me far longer than spending a few seconds patiently waiting for the lift. I reached reception and saw her through the glass doors, sitting on a sofa in the little residents' lounge. She was reading a book on Namatjira and as I pushed open the doors and walked toward her, my panic increased. There was no sign of the painting beside her.
"Sleeping Beauty awakes." She looked up and grinned at me. The grin faded as she saw my face. "What's up?"
"The painting," I panted. "Where is it? It was in the boot, remember? And the car was going back at six and it's half past seven now and—"
"Strewth, Cee! D'ya really think I'd have forgotten about it?"
"No, but where is it?" As I put my hands on my hips combatively, I realized just how much that painting meant to me. Brilliant or rubbish—or more likely somewhere in between—that wasn't the point. The point was, it was a start.
"Don't worry, it's perfectly safe, promise."
"Where?" I asked again.
"I said it's safe." She stood up, glaring at me now. "You really have a problem with trust, don't ya? I'm going out for a walk."
"Okay, sorry, but could you just tell me where it is?"
She shrugged silently and walked out of the lounge. By the time my legs had galvanized themselves into action and followed her into reception, she had left the hotel. I went outside and looked up and down the street, but she had vanished.
I went back upstairs to the room and lay on my bed, my heart beating like a tom-tom. Eventually, I calmed down and told myself that I'd overreacted, but surely it had been fair enough to expect a straightforward reply from her as to where my painting was? Because it signaled the return of something I'd seriously thought I might have lost forever. Something that was mine, that belonged to me, that no one could ever take away, except me.
Having given it away, both metaphorically and in real life, I needed it back. It wasn't "safe" unless it was with me. Couldn't she understand that? I took a long hot shower to drown out my thoughts, then lay down on my bed to wait for her to come back.
"Hi," she said as she walked into the room two hours later and threw her key down onto the desk.
"Hi," I replied.
I watched her as she sat down and undid her boots, then stripped off her trousers to begin taking off half of her right leg. She didn't speak to me, giving me the silent treatment like Star used to when I'd said or done something wrong. I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes.
"Did you hear what I said when I left the hotel earlier?" she asked me eventually.
"Yeah, I might be stupid and dyslexic, but I'm not deaf," I said, my eyes still shut.
"Jesus!" Chrissie gave a long sigh of frustration, and I heard her maneuvering herself toward the bathroom. The door slammed behind her and I heard the shower being turned on.
I hated these moments, the ones when everyone seemed to know what it was I'd done wrong, except for me. Like I was some alien who'd fallen to earth and didn't get the rules of the game. It was really irritating and, after all the euphoria I'd felt earlier, a total downer.
Eventually, I heard Chrissie come out of the bathroom and the creak of the bed as she sat down on it.
"Shall I turn out the light, or are you going to need clothes?" she asked me coldly.
"Whatever you want. I'm fine either way."
"Okay. Night." She turned out the light.
I managed approximately five minutes—actually, probably less—before I had to speak.
"What is your problem? I was just asking you where my painting was."
There was silence from the bed next to me. Again, I held it as long as I could, but then blurted out, "Why is it such a big deal?"
The light was switched on and Chrissie glared down at me from her sitting position on the side of her bed.
"All right! I'll tell you where the friggin' painting is! At the moment, it's probably in the store at the back of the Tangetyele Gallery waiting to be framed, which by tomorrow, Mirrin has promised me it will be. And maybe by the day after, it'll be hung on the wall of the gallery, with a selling price of six hundred dollars, which I negotiated. Okay?"
The light was snapped off again, and me and my agitation—with added astonishment—were plunged back into darkness.
"You took it to the gallery?" I said slowly, trying to breathe.
"Yup. That was the deal, wasn't it? I knew you'd never value my humble opinion on the work, so I took it to a professional. FYI," she spelled out through gritted teeth, "Mirrin loved it. Almost grabbed it outta my hand. Wants ta know when more are on the way."
There was too much in those sentences for my brain to take in, so I said nothing. Just breathed as best I could.
"She bought my painting?" I managed eventually.
"I wouldn't say that—she didn't hand over any money—but if some punter does buy it, then ya get three hundred an' fifty dollars, and the gallery two hundred an' fifty. She wanted to make it fifty-fifty, but I beat her down on the promise of more Celaeno D'Aplièses."
Celaeno D'Aplièse . . . how many times had I dreamed about that name becoming famous in the art world? It certainly wasn't a name anyone could forget, being such a mouthful.
"Oh. Thanks."
"That's okay."
"I mean," I added, beginning to see why she was so upset, "really, thanks."
"I said it's okay," came the terse response from the blackness.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of sleep but it was impossible. I sat upright, feeling it was my turn to exit stage left. Groping for my shorts, and being as clumsy as I was, I tripped over Chrissie's false leg, which stood like a booby trap between the beds.
"Sorry," I said, fumbling for it in the darkness to stand it back upright.
The light was switched on again.
"Thanks," I repeated as I looked for my shoes.
"You running out on me?" she asked.
"No, I'm just not tired. I slept for ages this afternoon."
"Yeah, while I was off doing you a deal." Chrissie regarded me with her head propped up on her elbow. "Look, Cee, it's my last night here and I don't want us ta fall out. I was just gutted that you didn't trust me to take care of that painting after all I'd said and done. And then today, I saw what kind of artist you could be, and I was so excited. But ya didn't see any of that when you marched into the lounge demanding to know where your painting was. It just . . . shook me. I really thought you'd started to trust me. I was rapt when Mirrin loved it and I couldn't wait ta tell you about it and go out an' celebrate. But you came in so angry with me that the moment was ruined."
"I'm really sorry, Chrissie. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Don't you see? I came here to the Alice because I wanted ta be with you. I missed you when ya left Broome."
"Did you?"
"Yeah. A lot," she added shyly.
"And I'm really happy you came," I said blandly, wondering whether my mind was correctly processing what I was hearing. Or, more important, its undercurrent. "I'm really sorry again," I said, wanting to blank the whole thing out, because I really couldn't deal with it right now. "I'm such an idiot sometimes."
"Look, you've told me about Star and the relationship you had with her, and how she let ya down."
"She didn't really, she just needed to move on," I said loyally.
"Whatever. I know you find it difficult to trust, especially in love when it's . . ." I heard Chrissie sigh heavily. "I suppose I just want you to know before I leave that I . . . well, I think I love you, Cee. Don't ask me how or why, but it's just the way it is. I know you had a boyfriend in Thailand and . . ." I watched tears come to Chrissie's eyes. "But I'm just being honest, okay?"
"Okay, I understand," I said, averting my eyes. "You've been fantastic, Chrissie, and—"
"No need ta say anything else. I understand too. At least we can be friends before we go to sleep."
"Yes."
"Night then." She reached to switch off the light again.
"Night." I lay back down on my bed, suddenly too exhausted to move as my brain took in the implications of what Chrissie had said.
Apparently, she loved me. And even I wasn't going to be as naive as to think she meant it just as a friend.
The question was, did I love her? I mean, only a few weeks ago, I'd been with Ace. It struck me that now Star was gone, I seemed to be forming attachments to all sorts of people, male and female . . .
## 21
I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Wake up, Cee, I gotta leave for the airport right now. I overslept."
I pulled myself out of sleep immediately and sat upright.
"You're leaving? Now?"
"Yeah, that's what I just said."
"But . . ." I climbed out of bed and looked for my shorts. "I'll come with you."
"No. I'm not good at that kinda stuff." Then she pulled me to her and hugged me. "Good luck with finding out who you are," she said as she released me and walked toward the door. I didn't miss the double meaning behind her words.
"I'll keep in touch, promise," I said.
"Yeah, I'd like that. Whatever happens," she said, then reached out for the door handle.
The sight galvanized me into action and I walked toward her. "Look, I've really enjoyed being with you, Chrissie. These past few days have been, like, well, the best of my life really."
"Thanks. Sorry about last night and all. I shouldn't have . . . well." She smiled bleakly. "I gotta go."
Then she reached for me, her warm lips brushing against my mouth as she kissed me. We stood like that for a few seconds before she pulled away. "Bye, Cee."
The door slammed behind her and I stood in a room that suddenly felt lonely and sad, as if Chrissie had taken all the warmth and love and laughter with her. I sank down onto the bed, not really equipped to know what to think or feel. I lay back, but the silence pounded in my ears. I felt just like I had when Star had left to go down to Kent to be with her new family: abandoned.
Except, I thought, I wasn't. Even if what had just happened had been a shock, Chrissie had told me she loved me.
Now, that really was a revelation. So few people in my life had said those words to me before. Was that the reason why I was feeling all gooey inside about her? Or was it . . . ? Was I . . . ?
"Shit!" I shook my head in complete confusion. I'd never been good at working out my emotions—I literally needed a Sherpa and a flaming torch to walk me through my psychological paces. I was just thinking about the fact that maybe I should join most of the Western world and offload everything to a professional when the phone by my bed rang.
"Hi, Miss D'Aplièse. I've gotta guy down here who wants to see ya."
"What's his name?"
"A Mr. Drury. He said he met you at Hermannsburg mission."
"Tell him I'll be down in a tick." I slammed down the receiver, put on my boots, and left the room.
I found the man from Hermannsburg wandering around reception, reminding me of a large wild animal who'd just been put in a small cage and didn't like it one bit. He towered over everything, his dusty clothes and sun-worn face out of place among the modern plastic furniture.
"Hi, Mr. Drury. Thanks for coming," I said, defaulting to the politeness that Ma had always drummed into us as children and holding out my hand.
"Hi, Celaeno. Call me Phil. Is there somewhere we can go to have a yak?"
"I think breakfast is still probably on the go." I looked at the receptionist, who nodded.
"The buffet closes in twenty minutes," she told us, and we wandered through.
"Here?" I indicated a table by the window in the half-empty dining room.
"Suits me," he said, and sat down.
"Want anything from the buffet?"
"I'll grab a coffee if there is one. You go ahead with the tucker."
Having ordered two coffees—both strong and black—I dashed over to the food and piled up a plate with cholesterol.
"I like a woman who enjoys her grub," Phil commented as I put the plate down opposite him.
"Oh, I do," I said as I ate. Judging by the way he was staring at me, I reckoned I might be in need of brain food.
"We had our meeting with the elders last night at Hermannsburg," he said, having downed the dainty cup of coffee in a single gulp.
"Yeah, you mentioned you were going to," I said.
"Right at the enda the meeting, I handed around your photograph."
"Did anyone recognize the young guy in it?"
"Yeah." Phil signaled for the waitress to pour him another coffee. "Ya could say that."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I couldn't understand why all of them were looking at it and pointing, then having a right old laugh."
"Why were they?" I asked, anxious to cut to the chase.
"Because, Celaeno, the bloke in the photo was present at the meeting. He's one of the elders. The others were all giving him gyp about the pic."
I took a deep breath and then a sip of coffee, wondering whether I was going to scream, jump for joy, or throw up the enormous breakfast I'd just stuffed down myself. I wasn't used to this much excitement in the space of twenty-four hours.
"Right," I said, knowing he was waiting to continue.
"The laughter eventually died down, and the fella who's in that photograph came to talk ta me afterward when the others had left."
"What did he say?"
"Want me to be honest?"
"Yeah."
"Well." Phil swallowed. "I've never seen an elder cry before. Last night, I did."
"Oh," I said, for some reason swallowing a massive lump in my own throat.
"They're big, strong men, y'see. Don't have none of those girly emotions. Put it like this, he knew exactly who you were. And he wants to meet you."
"Oh," I said again. "Er, who does he think he is? I mean . . ." I shook my head at my crap use of language. "Who is he to me?"
"He thinks he's your grandfather."
"Right."
This time, I couldn't stop the tears or I really would have thrown up my breakfast. So I let them pour out of my eyes in front of this man that I didn't even know. I watched him dig in his pocket and pass me a spotless white handkerchief across the table.
"Thanks," I said as I blew my nose. "It's the shock, I mean . . . I've come a long way and I never really expected to find my . . . family."
"No, I'm sure." He waited patiently until I'd pulled myself together.
"Sorry," I offered, and he shook his head.
"I understand."
I held his soggy hanky in my hand, reluctant to let it go. "So, why does he think that he might be my . . . grandfather?"
"I think it's his place to tell you that."
"But what if he's got it wrong?"
"Then he has"—Phil shrugged—"but I doubt it. These men, they don't just work on fact, y'see. They have an instinct that goes far beyond what I could even begin to explain ta ya. And Francis, of all the elders, is not one to muck around. If he knows, he knows, and that's that."
"Right." The hanky was so wet now that I resorted to wiping the back of my hand across my still-dripping nose. "When does he want to meet me?"
"As soon as possible. I said I'd ask you if you'd be able to spare the time ta come back with me to Hermannsburg now."
"Now?"
"Yeah, if it suits ya. He's going bush soon, so I'd suggest there's no time like the present."
"Okay," I said, "but I don't have any transport to get back here."
"You can kip at my place tonight if necessary, and I'll drop ya back in town whenever ya want," he replied.
"Right. Er, then I need to get my stuff together."
"Sure." He nodded. "Take your time. I got some errands ta run in town anyway. How about I see you back here in half an hour?"
"Okay, thanks."
We parted in reception and I ran up the stairs to my room. To say my head was spinning doesn't even begin to describe it. As I packed my stuff into my rucksack, I felt as if I'd been trapped in a film that had gone on for hours—i.e., my life before this morning. And then, it had suddenly been fast-forwarded so that lots of things all happened at once. That was the way my life felt right now.
Australia, Chrissie, my grandfather . . .
I stood up and felt so woozy that I had to steady myself by leaning against the wall. I shook my head but that only made it worse, so I lay down instead, feeling like a wimp.
"Too much excitement," I muttered, trying to breathe deeply to calm myself. Eventually, I stood up again, seeing I only had ten minutes left before I had to meet Phil downstairs.
Go with the flow, Cee, I thought as I brushed my teeth viciously and looked at my reflection in the mirror. Just go with the flow.
The receptionist told me there was nothing to pay, and I realized that Chrissie must have used the little money she earned to clear the bill. I felt terrible that I hadn't thought about it and got there first. She was obviously proud, like me, and didn't want to feel as though she was taking advantage.
The dusty, battered pickup truck I'd seen in the car park at Hermannsburg was outside the hotel.
"Throw your pack in the back of the ute an' climb aboard," Phil instructed me.
We set off, and I studied him slyly as he drove. From the tips of his huge dirt-spattered boots, to his brawny well-muscled arms and the Akubra hat atop his head, he was the archetypal Australian bushman.
"So, quite a moment for ya coming up, young lady," he commented.
"Yeah. If this guy really is my grandfather . . . I just don't understand how he could know it's definitely me. I mean, he's not seen a picture of me or anything, and I know it was my adoptive dad that named me."
"Well, I've known Francis half my life, and he's not someone who'd normally react the way he did when I mentioned you ta him yesterday. Besides, you had that piccie of him, remember?"
"Yeah, maybe he was the one who sent it and gave me the inheritance?"
"Maybe."
"What's he like? As a person, I mean?"
"Francis?" Phil chuckled. "He's pretty hard to describe. 'Unique' would be the word. He's getting on now a-course—he was born in the early thirties, I think, so he's well inta his seventies, and his painting has slowed down a bit recently . . ."
"He's an artist?"
"Yeah, and pretty well-known around here. He lived at the mission as a child. And from the way the elders were teasing him last night, he followed Namatjira around like a pet dingo."
"I'm an artist too." I bit my lip as I felt the swell of tears again.
"Well, there y'go. Talent runs in families, doesn't it? Not sure what my old dad passed down ta me, apart from a hatred of towns and people . . . No offense to you, miss, but I'm far more comfortable with my chooks an' dogs than I am with humans."
"So I'm definitely not related to Namatjira?" I thought how disappointed Chrissie would be.
"Doesn't look like it, no, but Francis Abraham is still a decent rellie to have in ya closet."
" 'Abraham'?" I questioned.
"Yeah, they gave him a surname at the mission, like with all the orphaned babies."
"He was an orphan?"
"It's best he tells ya. I only know the basics. All you need ta know is that he's a good, solid bloke, not like some-a the rubble around these parts. I'll miss him when he retires from the committee. He keeps the resta them in line, if ya know what I mean. They respect him."
My heart rate began to rise as we finally pulled into the Hermannsburg car park and I wished Chrissie were by my side to calm me.
"Righto, let's go an' get ourselves a cool drink while we wait for him," Phil said, springing out of the truck. "Best leave yer stuff where it is—you don't want any unwelcome visitors climbing inta that rucksack, do ya?"
I shuddered and my heart rate went up by another ninety thousand beats as panic rose through me. What if I actually had to stay the night here? In the outback, surrounded by my worst eight-legged nightmares?
Come on, Cee, be brave. You've just got to face your fears, I told myself as I tramped across the hard red ground behind Phil.
"Coke?" He reached into the chiller cabinet.
"Thanks." As I pulled off the top, Phil went to the rack of books, searching for something.
"Here we go."
I watched him leaf through a big hardback entitled Aboriginal Art of the Twentieth Century, and I only hoped he wasn't going to give me an enormous essay to read.
"Knew he was in here." He pointed a finger to a page and tapped it. "That's one of Francis's. They got it in the National Gallery of Australia now."
I looked down at the glossy picture and couldn't help but smile. Given that my possible grandfather had learned from Namatjira, I'd been expecting a watercolor landscape. Instead, my senses were blown away by a vibrant dot painting—what looked like a round swirl of fiery red, orange, and yellow—which reminded me of the Catherine wheel that Pa had set off in the garden at Atlantis for my eighteenth birthday.
As I looked closer, I began to make out shapes within the perfect spiral. A rabbit perhaps, and maybe that was a snake weaving its way through the circle to the center . . .
"It's amazing," I said, for the first time understanding what a talented artist could do with dots.
"It's called Wheel of Fire," commented Phil from behind the counter. "What d'ya think?"
"I love it, but it wasn't what I was expecting because you said he learned from Namatjira."
"Yeah, but Francis also went up ta Papunya with Clifford Possum long before Geoffrey Bardon came on the scene. The two-a them helped start the Papunya movement. Here, I'll show you Clifford Possum's work."
I was embarrassed that this man was talking a whole new language to me. I'd no idea who Geoffrey Bardon or Clifford Possum was, or where Papunya was. Some art scholar I am, I thought.
"Here." Phil tapped a page and another glorious painting appeared before my eyes. The artist had created a picture in soft pastels, the shapes formed by thousands of the tiniest and most delicate dots. I was reminded a little of Monet's Water Lilies, although it was as if the painter had taken the two different schools of painting and mixed them together to produce something unique.
"That's called Warlugulong. It sold for over two million dollars last year." Phil raised an eyebrow. "Serious moolah. Now, 'scuse me, Celaeno, I need to check out the dunny—found a Western brown in there yesterday."
"Right. Did he . . . my, er, grandfather, say when he might arrive?"
"Sometime today," Phil said vaguely. "Take what you need from the fridge, love, and I'll see ya in a bit."
Armed with a bottle of water, I picked up the book and looked for somewhere to sit and flick through it. There was only the high stool behind the counter, so I perched myself on that and opened the book at the beginning.
I was actually so engrossed, not only in the amazing paintings, but in trying to decipher the Aboriginal titles of the paintings and their meanings, that I only looked up when I heard the door to the hut open, having obviously missed the sound of a car.
"Hello," said the figure standing in the doorway.
"Hi."
At first, I thought he was a tourist come to visit Hermannsburg, because he couldn't be my grandfather—all the old Aboriginal men I'd seen in photos were small and very dark, their skin parched by the sun into wrinkles and crevices like dried-up prunes. Besides the fact that this man looked far too young to be him, he was tall and thin, with skin the same shade as my own. As he removed his Akubra hat and walked toward me, I saw he had the most incredible pair of eyes. They were bright blue with flecks of gold and amber, so that the irises appeared rather like the dot paintings I had just been looking at. Then I realized he was staring at me as hard as I was at him, and I felt the color rise to my cheeks under the intensity of his gaze.
"Celaeno?" His voice was deep and measured, like honey. "I'm Francis Abraham."
My eyes locked with his in a moment of recognition.
"Yes."
There were more pauses and staring, and I realized he didn't know how to play this moment any more than I did, because we both knew it was BIG.
"Can I take some water?" he asked me, indicating the fridge. I was thankful that he'd broken the moment, but also wondered why he was asking me. After all, he was an "elder," whatever that meant, so I was pretty certain that he could take as much water as he wanted.
I watched him stride over to the chiller cabinet. The way he walked and then stretched out a muscled arm to pull open the glass door belied how old Phil had told me he was. How could this strong, vital man be in his seventies? He was far more Crocodile Dundee than OAP, which he confirmed as he used the lightest touch of his thumb and forefinger to screw off the bottle cap. I watched as he drank deeply, perhaps using the gesture to play for time and think what to say.
Having drained the bottle, he threw it in the bin, then turned to me once more.
"I sent you that photograph," he said. "I hoped you'd come."
"Oh, thanks."
A long silence ensued, before he gave a deep sigh and a small shake of his head, then walked around the counter to me.
"Celaeno . . . come and give your grandfather a hug."
As there wasn't room to actually go anywhere in the tiny, confined space behind the counter, I just reached forward to him and he took me in his arms. My head lay against his heart and I heard it thumping steadily in his chest, feeling his life force. And his love.
We both wiped away a surreptitious tear when we eventually parted. He whispered something in a language I didn't understand, then looked heavenward. As he was closer now, I could see fine wrinkles crisscrossing his skin and ropes of sinew in his neck, which revealed that he was older than my first impression had suggested.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he said.
"Yes, I do."
"Where's Phil?"
"Gone off to look for snakes in the . . . dunny."
"Well, I'm sure he won't mind if we use his sleeping hut to chat." He held out his arm. "Come, we've got lots to talk about."
Phil's sleeping hut was just as it said on the tin: a small, low-ceilinged room with an ancient fan dangling above a rough wooden bed that boasted only a sleeping bag on top of the stained mattress. Francis opened the door that led from the bedroom onto a shady veranda beyond it. He pulled out an old wooden chair for me, which wobbled as he placed it down.
"Sit?" he asked.
"Thanks." As I sat down, I saw the view in front of me immediately made up for any lack of facilities inside. Uninterrupted red desert in the foreground rolled down to a creek. On the other side of it, a small line of silver-green shrubs that depended on sucking out the limited water supply to stay alive grew along the edges. And beyond that . . . well, there was nothing until the red land met the blue horizon.
"I lived along that creek for a while. Many of us did. In, but out, if you understand what I mean."
I didn't, but I nodded anyway. It dawned on me then that I stood at the junction of two cultures which were still struggling to come to terms with each other two hundred years on. Australia—and I—were only young and trying to work ourselves out. We were making progress, but then making mistakes, because we didn't have centuries of wisdom and the experience of age to guide us.
I felt instinctively that the man sitting opposite me had more wisdom than most. I raised my eyes to meet his again.
"Ah, Celaeno, where should we begin?" He steepled his fingers and looked at that distant horizon.
"You tell me."
"Y'know," he said, turning his gaze back to me, "I never imagined this day would come. So many moments that one wishes for don't."
"I know," I agreed, wishing I could place his strange accent, because it was a mixture of so many different intonations that every time I thought I'd cracked it, I knew I was wrong. There was Australian, English, and I even thought I recognized a hint of German.
"So, you received the letter and the photograph from the solicitor in Adelaide?" he prompted.
"I did, yes."
"And the amount that went with it?"
"Yes. Thank you, it was really kind of you, if it was you that sent it."
"I arranged for it to be sent, yes, but I didn't use these hands to earn it. Nevertheless, it is yours by rights. Through my . . . our family." His eyes crinkled into a warm smile. "You look like your great-grandmother. Just like her . . ."
"Was that the daughter of Camira? The baby with the amber eyes?" I hazarded a guess from what I had listened to so far on the CD.
"Yes. Alkina was my mother. I . . . well." He looked as if he might cry.
"Oh," I said.
"So." Francis visibly pulled himself together. "Tell me what you have discovered so far about your kin?"
I told him what I knew, feeling shy and uncertain because this man had such presence, an aura of calm and charisma, that made me feel even more tongue-tied than I usually did.
"I only got up to where the Koombana had sunk. And the dad and both brothers had been lost at sea. The person who wrote the book seemed to be saying that there'd been a really close relationship between Kitty's husband's brother—Drummond, was it?—and her."
"I have read it. It suggests that they had an affair," he agreed.
"I know how people just write stuff to sell books, so I didn't necessarily believe it or anything," I babbled, feeling terrible that I might be slandering a close member of his—our family.
"Celaeno, are you telling me you feel this biographer may have sensationalized Kitty Mercer's life?"
"Perhaps, yes," I hedged nervously.
"Celaeno."
"Yes?"
"When you hear what I have to tell you, you will know that she didn't sensationalize it enough!"
I watched in amazement as Francis put his head back and laughed. When his eyes turned back to me, they were full of amusement. "Now, I will tell you the real story. A truth that was only told to me on my grandmother's deathbed. And we are not laughing about that, because she was one of the most dear, precious human beings I ever knew."
"I understand, and please, don't tell me if you don't want to. Maybe we should get to know each other better, so you know you can trust me?"
"I have felt you since you were a seed in my daughter's womb. It is you I worry for, Celaeno. To never know your roots, where you came from . . ." Francis gave a deep sigh. "And you must know the story of your relatives. You are kin. Blood of their—and my—blood."
"How did you find me?" I asked. "After all these years?"
"It was my late wife's—your grandmother's—last wish that I look once more for our daughter. I didn't find her, but instead I found you. To help you understand more, I must take you back. You know the story up until the Koombana sank, taking all the Mercer men with it?"
"Yes. But how do I fit in?"
"I understand your impatience, but first you must listen carefully to understand. So, I shall tell you what happened to Kitty after that . . ."
## KITTY
Broome, Western Australia
April 1912
## 22
Kitty had often wondered how humans made it through the darkest moments of loss. In Leith she had visited families in the tenements, only to discover that they had been decimated by an influenza or measles epidemic. They had put their faith in the Lord, simply because there was nowhere else to put it.
And I'm surely on my way to hell, she thought constantly.
In the week that followed, though outwardly her daily routine didn't alter, Kitty walked through it like a wraith, as though she too had departed this world. The windows of the stores along Dampier Terrace were hung with black cloth and there was barely a family in town that had not been touched by the disaster. To add to their shock, news reached them that the "unsinkable" Titanic had also been swallowed by the ocean, with few survivors.
No one had any idea how the Koombana had gone down, taking her precious cargo to the bottom of the sea. A cabin door, a Moroccan-leather settee cushion . . . these were the scant remains that had drifted to the surface. No bodies had yet been found, and Kitty knew they never would be. Hungry sharks would have feasted on their flesh within hours.
For once, Kitty was glad of her small community and its shared grief. The usual social rules were ignored as people met in the street and held each other, allowing tears to fall unchecked. Kitty was humbled by the kindness she received, and by the condolence cards pushed through the letter box so as not to disturb her.
Charlie, whose initial reaction had been so calm, had cried on his mother's knee a few days after she'd told him.
"I know they've gone to heaven, Mama, but I miss 'em. I want to see Papa and Uncle Drum . . ."
Her son's suffering at least gave Kitty something to focus on and she spent as much time as she could with him. With the loss of his father, grandfather, and uncle, the male Mercer line had been wiped out in one fell swoop and Charlie was now the sole heir. Kitty feared what a burden it might prove to be for him in the future.
After she had tucked Charlie into his bed for the night, gently stroking his hair to send him to sleep, Kitty fingered the growing stack of unopened letters and telegrams on her writing bureau. She could not bear to open them, accept the writers' sympathies, for she knew she deserved none of it. Despite trying to rein in her duplicitous heart and focus her sorrow on Andrew, she continued to mourn incessantly for Drummond.
She went out onto the veranda and looked up at the vast expanse of stars, searching for an answer.
As always, there was none.
Since there were no bodies to be buried, Bishop Riley announced that there would be a memorial service held in the Church of the Annunciation at the end of April. Kitty went to Wing Hing Loong, the local tailor, to purchase mourning attire, only to discover that they had already sold out of black dress fabric.
"Dun worry, Missus Mercer," said the diminutive Chinaman. "Wear what you have, no one care what you look like." Kitty left the crowded shop with a grim smile, seeing for herself that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good.
Although most of the luggers in the pearling fleet had been hauled in for the lay-up season, a few had been caught in the cyclone. Noel Donovan, the gentle Irish manager of the Mercer Pearling Company, came to the house to give her the details of the losses.
"Twenty men," she sighed. "Do you have their addresses so I can write to their families? Do any of them have relatives in Broome? If so, I'd like to visit them personally."
"I'll get what addresses I can from the office, Mrs. Mercer. I'd be reckoning that the twentieth of March, the day the mighty Koombana sank, will go down in history. Teaches us never to become complacent, doesn't it now? Man's arrogance lets him believe he can command the oceans. Nature knows better."
"Sadly, for all us souls left behind, you are indeed right, Mr. Donovan."
"Well now, I'll be leaving ye to it." He rose from his chair, then clasped his hands nervously together. "Pardon me mentioning it at such a time, but have you heard from Mrs. Mercer Senior at all?"
"I'm afraid I have not yet found the courage to open all the telegrams I have been sent. Or the cards and letters." Kitty indicated the growing pile on her desk.
"Well now, I haven't heard from her either and I hardly like to bother her, but I wondered whether ye had an idea of what's to become of the pearling business. What with all three Mercer men gone . . ." Noel shook his head.
"I confess that I have no idea, but with no one left to run it, and Charlie still so young, I can only imagine it will be sold."
"I thought as much, and I should warn you, Mrs. Mercer, that the vultures are circling already. I'd reckon 'tis ye they'll come to first, so I'd be advising you to contact the family lawyer in Adelaide. There is one particular gentleman, Japanese I believe, who is most interested. Mr. Pigott is also planning on selling everything. 'Tis a mighty blow to our industry indeed. Well now, good day, Mrs. Mercer, and I will see ye at the memorial."
The morning of the service, Kitty tried to persuade Camira and Fred to accompany her and Charlie. Camira looked horrified.
"No, Missus Kitty, dat whitefella place. Not for us."
"But you deserve to be there, Camira. You and Fred . . . you loved them too."
Camira stoically refused, so Kitty set off with Charlie on the cart. In the tiny church, people moved aside to allow her to sit with Charlie near the front. The congregation overflowed into the garden and many peered through the louvered windows to hear the bishop's sermon. Throughout the ceremony and amid the sound of pitiful sobbing, Kitty sat dry-eyed. She prayed for the many souls lost but would not cry tears for herself. She knew she deserved every second of the pain and guilt she was suffering.
Afterward, there was a wake in the Roebuck Bay Hotel. Some of the men drowned their sorrows in the alcohol that the pearling masters had provided and began singing Scottish and Irish sea shanties, which took Kitty spinning back to the day she had stumbled into the Edinburgh Castle Hotel.
Back at home later, she sat down in the drawing room and, out of habit, picked up her embroidery. As she sewed, she pondered her own and Charlie's future. No doubt what she'd said to Noel Donovan was correct and the businesses would be sold, with the funds put in trust for Charlie. She wondered whether she should return to Edinburgh, yet she doubted Edith would be happy about her only grandson leaving Australia. Perhaps she would insist they both come back to live in Adelaide, and if Kitty refused, might even hold Charlie's future fortune to ransom . . .
Kitty rose from her chair and walked across to her desk. Now that the memorial service was over, she had to begin to face the future. She separated the letters from the unopened telegrams, sat down, and started to read.
Tears began to stream down her face at the generosity and thoughtfulness of the Broome townspeople.
. . . And Drummond, what a delightful breath of fresh air he was. Lighting up our dinner table with his wit and humor . . .
Kitty jumped as she heard the front door slam. Heavy footsteps sounded along the entrance hall, and the drawing room door creaked open. Kitty held her breath, realizing too late that she was now a woman alone in a dangerous town. She turned around from her desk and saw a figure standing there, a figure that was all too familiar, even covered as he was in filth and red dust. Kitty wondered if she was hallucinating, because this could not be . . .
She closed her eyes, then reopened them. And he was still there, staring at her.
"Drummond?" she whispered.
His eyes narrowed but he did not reply.
"Oh my God, Drummond, you're alive! You're here!" She ran to him, but was startled when he pushed her away harshly. His blue eyes were steely and red rimmed.
"Kitty, it is not Drummond, but Andrew, your husband!"
"I . . ." Her head spun and she fought off the urge to vomit, but some deep instinct told her she must dredge her mind to produce an explanation.
"I have been so lost in grief, I can hardly remember my own name. Of course it is you, Andrew, yes, now I see it is." She urged her hand to caress his cheek, his hair. "How can this be? How can my husband return to me from the dead?"
"I hardly know . . . oh, Kitty . . ." His face crumpled and he fell back against the wall. She caught him by the arm and led him to a chair, where his head dropped into his hands and his shoulders shook with heavy sobs.
"Oh my darling," she whispered, tears coming to her own eyes. She went to the sideboard, poured him a measure of brandy, then thrust it into his trembling fingers. Eventually, he took a sip.
"I can't bear it," he murmured. "My brother and father . . . gone. But I am still here. How can God be so cruel?" He looked up at her, his eyes desolate. "I should have been on the Koombana. I should have died with them . . ."
"Hush, my darling, it is a miracle to have you back with us. Please, how did you survive?"
Andrew took another sip of brandy and gathered his strength. Pain seemed to have deepened the lines on his young face, and beneath the red streaks of mud, his skin was gray with exhaustion and shock.
"I left the ship shortly after Fremantle. I had some . . . business to attend to. I traveled overland, and it was not until I reached Port Hedland two days ago that I heard the news. I have not slept since . . ." His voice broke then, and he hid his face from her.
"It has all been a grave shock for you, my love," she said, trying to collect herself, "and you have not had time to process it. Let me fetch you something to eat. And you must take off your wet clothes. I shall lay out some dry ones for you." Her body was eager to have some occupation, as her mind could not be still. He caught her hand.
"Did you not get my telegram? I told you I had a last-minute errand to attend to."
"Yes, I did. You said your father would tell me what you meant, but, Andrew, he didn't arrive . . ." Kitty's voice trailed off.
He winced. "Of course. How is my mother? She must be devastated."
"I . . . do not know. I did write to her straight after it happened, but . . ." Guiltily, Kitty pointed to the pile of still unopened telegrams. "Noel Donovan came to see me only yesterday and said that he had not heard from her either."
"For God's sake, Kitty!" Andrew stood up, shaking with anger. "Noel Donovan is merely a member of my staff. At a time like this, she would hardly respond to such a man. You are her daughter-in-law! Did you not think that she might need to have a further response from you?" He began to tear open the telegrams, read them briefly, then shook one in her face.
COME TO ADELAIDE AT ONCE STOP I CANNOT TRAVEL THERE FOR I AM UNDONE STOP MUST KNOW WHAT HAPPENED STOP REPLY BY RETURN STOP EDITH STOP
Andrew threw it on the floor. "So, while you have been comforted by the local townsfolk, attending memorial services and receiving letters of condolence, my mother has been alone in her grief, thousands of miles away."
"You are right, and I am so very sorry. Forgive me, Andrew."
"And forgive me for coming home in anticipation of seeing my wife, having discovered that my father and brother are dead. And yet you have sat here for these past weeks without even having the foresight to think of my poor mother."
They didn't speak much after that. As Andrew wolfed down the plate of bread and cold meats she brought him, Kitty watched his expressions carefully as a variety of emotions passed across his eyes, but he didn't share them with her.
"Andrew, will you come to bed?" Kitty asked him eventually. "You must be exhausted." She reached a hand out but he snatched his away.
"No. I will take a bath. Go and sleep."
"I will draw one for you."
"No! I will do it. Good night, Kitty. I will see you in the morning."
"Good night." Kitty left the room, and upon reaching her bedroom, closed the door behind her, biting her lip to stop the sobs that were building up inside her chest.
I can't bear it . . .
After undressing, she lay down and buried her face in the pillow.
I called him Drummond . . . my God! How could I have done that?
"Does he know?" she whispered to herself. "Is that why he's so angry? Lord, what have I done?"
Eventually, she sat up, and took some deep breaths. "Andrew is alive," she said out loud. "And it is wonderful news. Charlie, Edith . . . they will be so very happy. Everyone will tell me how lucky I am. Yes. I am lucky."
Andrew did not come to her bed that night. She found him at breakfast the next morning, with Charlie sitting on the chair next to him.
"Papa came back from heaven," her son said, smiling happily. "He's an angel now, an' flew back wiv wings."
"And I am glad to be home," said Andrew.
As Camira served them, Kitty saw the confused look in her eyes.
"Isn't it wonderful? Andrew is home!"
"Yessum, Missus Kitty," she said with a hurried nod, then left the room.
"Your little black doesn't seem herself," Andrew commented as he munched his way through three slices of toast and bacon.
"She is probably amazed and overwhelmed at your miraculous return, as we all are."
"I'd like you to accompany me into town, Kitty. I think it is important that people see us reunited."
"Yes, of course, Andrew."
"I shall then go to the office, as I can imagine there will be much to do there. I will send a telegram to Mother on the way and tell her we shall all go to Alicia Hall for a visit soon."
Once Camira had taken Charlie off to the kitchen, Andrew stood up and studied Kitty.
"I read the condolence letters from the townsfolk after my bath last night. They were very kind about Father and myself, and poor old Drummond. He in particular was obviously very popular here."
"He was, yes."
"The two of you seemed to do rather a lot of socializing together while I was gone."
"Invitations came and I felt I should accept them. You always tell me how important it is."
"And I remember how many times you came up with an excuse to turn them down in the past. With me, anyway."
"I . . . that is, the rains were worse than usual this year. I think we all suffered from cabin fever and needed to get out once they'd stopped," Kitty improvised.
"Well, now that I am returned from the dead, we are able to celebrate. And I hope I will not disappoint our neighbors by being myself rather than my brother, God rest his soul."
"Andrew, please don't talk like that."
"Even my own son says nothing but 'Uncle Drum' this and 'Uncle Drum' that. It seems he has endeared himself to everyone. Does that include you, my dear?"
"Andrew, please, your brother is dead! He is gone forever! Surely you cannot resent the fact that he enjoyed the last few weeks of his life here with family and new friends?"
"Of course not. What do you take me for? However, even though he is dead, it feels rather as if he walked into my house and my life and took both over while I was away."
"And thank God he was here, especially when I was sick."
"Yes, of course." Andrew nodded, chastened. "Forgive me, Kitty, it has all been rather overwhelming. Now, I would like to leave for town at ten o'clock. Can you be ready?"
"Of course. Will we take Charlie?"
"Best leave him here," Andrew decreed.
As they drove along Dampier Terrace, Kitty could only assume that Andrew wished as many residents as possible to see he had returned. She watched the reactions of the shopkeepers and passersby who crowded around him, desperate to know how he'd managed to escape from his watery grave. Andrew told the same story a number of times, and people hugged Kitty and told her how lucky she was.
I am, she reiterated silently as they set off for the office close to the harbor.
Again, Kitty witnessed astonishment, then joy as an emotional Noel Donovan embraced his boss. A bottle of champagne was procured and an impromptu party ensued. It seemed that everyone in town wanted to celebrate the miracle of Andrew's survival and Kitty fixed a tight smile on her face as people hugged her, crying with happiness at her husband's return. Andrew too was constantly surrounded by people, all slapping him on the back, as if testing to see if he was real.
"Perhaps they should rename me Lazarus," Andrew jested that evening, as the party moved to the Roebuck Bay Hotel. It was a rare moment of humor from him, and Kitty was glad of it.
Over the following week, they welcomed a constant stream of visitors to their home, as people crowded in to hear Andrew repeat the tale of his decision to leave the ship at Geraldton.
"Did you have a vision?" asked Mrs. Rubin. "Did you know what was to occur?"
"Of course not," Andrew said, "or I would never have let the ship continue. It was nothing but coincidence."
But it seemed no one wanted to believe that it had been. Andrew had taken on the role of Messiah, his survival a sign that good fortunes were in store for the town of Broome. It invigorated the lugger captains and divers, who had been despondent since the recent losses. Even the fellow pearling masters, who had almost certainly been eager to see the fall of the Mercer Pearling Company, embraced Andrew at the head of the table as the weekly dinner meeting was resumed.
Among this whirlwind, Kitty found herself moving through the days like a puppet, her arms and legs feeling as if they were operated by outside forces, her mind trapped as a witness to a life she was not meant to have. Guilt plagued her waking and sleeping thoughts constantly. By day, Andrew was courteous, kind, and grateful to those who surrounded him, but at night over dinner, he barely spoke to her. Afterward, he would retire to bed, now favoring the single cot in his dressing room.
"Wouldn't you be more comfortable back in our bedroom?" Kitty had asked him tentatively one night.
"I find myself restless and would only disturb you, my dear," he'd replied coldly in return.
By the end of the week, Kitty was a nervous wreck. She sat with Andrew and Charlie over breakfast, noticing that even her son was subdued in the presence of his father. Perhaps it was simply the dreadful loss that Andrew was struggling to come to terms with that had affected his attitude toward her, or . . . she couldn't bear to think of the other reason.
"Kitty, I wish you to accompany me on some errands today," Andrew broke in on her thoughts without so much as looking at her.
"Of course," she agreed.
After breakfast, he helped her onto the cart, then sat stiffly beside her as he steered it out of the drive. But instead of taking the road into town, Andrew took the road toward Riddell Beach.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"I thought that you and I should have a talk. Alone."
Kitty's heart thudded in her chest, but she remained silent.
"Charlie tells me you went to the beach often while I was gone," Andrew continued. "Apparently you went swimming. In your pantaloons."
"Yes, I . . . well, it was very hot and . . ." Kitty blinked the tears away.
"Good God! What is the world coming to? My wife swimming in her pantaloons like a native." Andrew pulled the cart to a halt and tethered the pony to a post. "Shall we walk?" He indicated the beach below them.
"As you wish," she said, musing that if Andrew was going to tell her he knew about her affair, he had chosen the very spot where only weeks ago she'd lain with his brother and made love. Never before had Andrew suggested a walk on the beach; he'd always hated the feeling of sand in his shoes.
A pleasant breeze blew gently, and the same sea that had robbed Kitty of her love was now as calm as a sleeping baby. Andrew walked ahead toward the ocean as Kitty—who dared not remove her boots and face Andrew's disapproval—stumbled along behind him. They reached the rocky inlet where she had so recently climbed onto a boulder and dived off. Andrew stood inches from the water, the waves frothing close to his shoes.
"My father and brother lie somewhere out there." Andrew pointed to the ocean. "Gone forever, while I live."
Kitty watched him slump onto a rock as his head bowed and he put his hands to his face. "I'm so very sorry, darling." She understood now why he'd come here: to cry and mourn in private for his father and brother. She saw his shoulders shaking and her heart went out to him.
"Andrew, you still have Charlie and me, and your mother, and . . ." She knelt down and tried to hold him, but he broke away from her, stood up, and staggered along the beach.
"Oh, forgive me, please forgive me, God, but . . ."
Kitty stood watching him, confused. He almost seemed to be laughing, rather than crying.
"Andrew, please!" She hurried after him as the waves started to lap over his highly polished shoes and he collapsed onto the sand, his shoulders shaking, his eyes still hidden behind his large brown hands. Finally, his head came up, and he removed his hands from his eyes. They were streaming with tears.
"God forgive me," he said eventually, "but it had to be done. For me and for you and Charlie. My Kitty. My Kat . . ."
"Andrew, I don't understand . . ." She stared at him and realized that indeed the tears were not of sorrow, but of mirth. "Why on earth are you laughing?"
"I know it isn't funny, quite the opposite, but . . ." He drew in a few deep breaths and gazed at her. "Kitty, do you really not know me?"
"Of course I do, darling." Kitty was already wondering how she could get Andrew back to the cart and take him straight to Dr. Suzuki. It was obvious he had quite lost his mind. "You're my husband and the father of our child, Charlie."
"Then I have truly done it!" he cried, punching the air. "For God's sake, Kitty, it's me!"
He pulled her to him then and kissed her hungrily, passionately. And as her body melted into his, she knew exactly who he was.
"No!"
She wrenched herself away from his grasp, sobbing with shock and confusion. "Stop it! Please, stop it! You're Andrew, my husband . . . my husband!" She sank to her knees. "Please, stop playing games," she begged him. "Whatever it is you want me to admit, I'll admit it. Just please, stop!"
A pair of strong arms came around her shoulders. "Forgive me, Kitty, but I had to do this to ensure that everyone believed I was your husband, including you. If I was convincing enough to fool the person who knows us best, then I could fool anyone. If you had known, then the merest look or touch could have given us away. Now even Charlie is convinced I'm his father. Oh, my darling girl . . ." His fingers skimmed down her arms and he kissed her sweating neck gently.
"No!" Kitty pulled away. "How could you do this to me?! How could you? Impersonating your own brother back from the dead! It's . . . outrageous."
"Kitty, can't you understand? It's love!"
"I understand nothing! All I know is that you have fooled us all! You have masqueraded as my dead husband, allowed my child to believe his father is back from the grave, shown yourself to the townsfolk, and presented yourself as Andrew at his office!"
"And they believe me, Kitty. They believed I was Andrew, as you did. The idea came to me when I thought of the last time I'd come to visit, and the townsfolk—and you initially—believed I was Andrew. Yes." His arms dropped away from her shoulders. "I have lied—a terrible lie—but I had to take this opportunity. So, when I heard what had happened and made my way overland, I formulated my plan."
"So you knew before Port Hedland?"
"Of course I knew! Good God, even the kookaburras hundreds of miles from here were shouting the news from the trees. It is the biggest tragedy to hit the region in decades."
"So, you decided to impersonate your brother?"
"There has to be some advantage to having an identical twin. I've certainly never seen one before, but then I realized that perhaps it had all been for a reason. I consulted the heavens for advice as I sat alone by my campfire in the desert. They told me that life is very short on this earth. And although I may have been able to marry you one day when it was seemly to do so, the thought of wasting perhaps years being apart from you seemed pointless when I could come back and claim you as mine now. We could be together as man and wife, and everyone would rejoice that I was saved and—"
"Drummond." Kitty used his name for the first time. "I think you must be mad. Do you not understand the implications of what you have done?"
"Perhaps not all, but most of them, yes. I just wished to be with you. Is that so wrong?"
"So you are prepared to change your identity and lie to every single person other than me about who you really are?"
"If that's what this takes, then yes. To be honest, I'm still stunned that my impression of Andrew was so excellent that no one questioned it!"
"You have been far too fierce with me. In fact, you have been perfectly horrible."
"Then I shall tone down my behavior toward you from now on."
"Drummond . . ." Kitty was lost for words at his grotesque disregard for the gravity of his charade.
"From now on you must call me Andrew," he replied.
"I will call you what I choose to. Good God! This is not a game, Drummond. What you have done is completely immoral, even illegal! How can you wear your deception so lightly?"
"I don't know, but I look out there and picture my father and brother dead at the bottom of the ocean, already picked to nothing by sharks. And I think of you, Kitty, who almost left me too when you were so sick. I simply understand now how precious life is. So yes," he agreed, "I wear it lightly."
Kitty turned away from him, trying to process the ramifications of what he had done.
To be with her . . .
"I must admit that I am surprised you didn't guess, even though I did my best to remain distanced from you physically." Drummond had removed his shoes and socks and was stepping out of his trousers. "For a start, surely you knew Andrew well enough to realize that he would never travel overland by horse and cart? In fact, I traveled to Broome by camel as usual, but I decided a cart sounded more realistic."
"Yes, I did think it strange, but at the time I had no reason to believe my husband would lie," she replied coldly. "Perhaps now you can tell me how you came to be saved."
"It was Andrew who asked me to leave the Koombana at Geraldton. He gave me a briefcase of money and told me where I must meet his contact and he showed me a photograph of what I was to collect in return. In short, he confessed himself too frightened to make the journey himself, and knew I had far more experience navigating Australia's hinterland. Given that I was about to elope with his wife and son on my return, I felt it was the least I could do. A last good deed, if you will."
"And what was it you had to collect?"
"Kitty, that is a story for another time. Suffice it to say that Andrew's last-minute cowardice saved my life, and out of it, he lost his. If you had opened your telegrams, you would have found one from me warning you I was to meet Andrew here in Broome with his . . . prize, before sailing on to Darwin as I had planned. I wrote that I would be delayed by a few days and you were to wait for me there until I arrived. Now excuse me, but I need a swim to cool off."
Kitty sat on the beach, her head not so much spinning as swirling. She watched as he dived into the waves in such an un-Andrew-like way, she could hardly believe that she'd been fooled. But fooled she had been, along with the rest of the town.
The implications of what he'd done and the risk he had taken hung over her like a curse. And yet, she could not help but imagine the happiness they could now share—legally—as a married couple.
How can you think like that, Kitty? Her conscience nudged her and she ground her palms onto the sand to bring herself back to reality.
What angered her most was the fact he hadn't shared his plan with her, taking it for granted that she would want the same.
And she did. God help her, she did . . .
But what was the price?
Kitty knew it was a high one, but after the carnage of the past few weeks, what did it matter? If living in Australia had taught her anything, it was that human life was fragile; nature was in charge and cared not a jot for the havoc it wreaked on those who populated its earth.
Besides, she mused, her family had never even met Andrew; it was entirely possible that she could waltz home to Edinburgh with Drummond on her arm and they would be none the wiser. Australia was still a young country, and those brave enough to inhabit it had the gift of making up the rules themselves—and that was exactly what Drummond had done.
As he walked out of the sea toward her, shaking the drops off him like the dog that he was—a chancer and a charmer who, it seemed, would do anything to get what he wanted—Kitty finally glimpsed the reality of her future:
To be with Drummond, she would live a lie for the rest of her life, betraying two dead men and a grieving wife and mother. Let alone her precious son—an innocent in all this—who would grow up believing his uncle was his father . . .
No! No! This is wrong, it is wrong . . .
As Drummond approached her, Kitty stood up. She walked off along the beach, suddenly unable to contain her fury.
"How dare you!" she screamed to the sea and the clouds gently scudding above her head. "How dare you implicate me in your disgusting charade! Can't you see, Drummond, that this isn't one of your little games? What you've done is no less than"—Kitty searched for the word—"obscene! And I shall have no part in it."
"Kitty, my darling Kat, I thought that you wanted to have a life with me. I did it for us—"
"No, you did not! You did it for yourself!" Kitty paced backward and forward on the sand. "You did not even have the grace to ask me what I thought beforehand! If anyone discovers the truth, there's no doubt you would go to jail!"
"Surely you wouldn't wish that on me?"
"It's no less than you deserve. Dear Lord, what a mess. What a mess! And I cannot see a way out."
"Does there have to be one?" Drummond approached her as though she were a cornered scorpion that might attack at any minute. "Does it matter what my name is, or yours? This way, we can be together, always. Forgive me, Kitty, if I acted in haste." He took a step closer to her. "Please?"
There was a loud thwack as Kitty slapped him hard across his cheek for the second time in her life, only just restraining herself from launching at him and punching him to the ground.
"Do you not see? If you'd only waited, had some patience, not acted in your usual impetuous manner, then perhaps one day we could have been together. Legally, in the sight of God. Everyone would have thought it natural for a widow to grow close to her brother-in-law. But no, Drummond, you had to take the law into your own hands, and present yourself as Andrew to everyone in town!"
"Then I will tell them I had a knock on the head, or—"
"Don't be ridiculous! No one would give that credence for an instant, and it would only implicate me in your disgusting lie. Are people really to believe that I didn't know my own husband?"
"Then perhaps we stick to the original plan," Drummond offered, desperate now. "You and Charlie come with me to the cattle station. No one would know who you were there . . ."
"No! My husband is dead and I must honor his memory. Oh, Drummond, can't you see that you've made a pact with the devil, and now nothing can ever be right between us again?" Kitty sank to her knees on the sand and rested her head in her hands. Silence lay between them for a long time. Eventually, Drummond spoke.
"You are right, of course, Kitty. I was impetuous. I saw a chance to claim you, and I didn't stop to think. It is a huge fault of mine, I admit. I am so eager to live in the moment, I do not address the future consequences. So, what would you have me do?"
Kitty closed her eyes and drew in a breath, garnering the courage to say the words she needed to.
"You must leave. As soon as possible."
"To go where?"
"That cannot be my concern. You didn't ask my opinion on your rash decision, and I cannot be party to others you make in the future."
"Then perhaps I will go and see my mother. Let the dust settle. Whichever son I am, it will bring her comfort that she has one left. Who should I be?"
"I have just told you, I want nothing more to do with it." Kitty wrung her hands.
"And what of the people here in Broome? Will they not wonder why your husband has arrived and departed again so swiftly?"
"I am sure they will understand that after the death of a father and a brother, there is much to attend to elsewhere."
"Kitty . . ." His hand reached out to her and she flinched, knowing his touch would break her resolve.
Drummond withdrew his hand. "Can you ever forgive me?"
"I forgive you now, Drummond, for I know that despite your utter stupidity, you did not mean harm. Nor can I say I no longer love you, because I always will. But I can never condone what you have done, or live the lie that you have forged not just for us, but for Charlie too."
"I understand." Drummond stood up, and this time Kitty saw there were tears of utter devastation in his eyes. "I will leave as you have asked. And try—though at present I hardly know how—to put right the wrongs my selfish behavior has inflicted upon you and Charlie. He will grow up without a father—"
"Or an uncle."
"Is this forever?"
"I can never lie to my son. He must hold his father's memory sacred."
"But he saw me only this morning . . ."
"Time heals, Drummond, and if you go away, it will not be so difficult to one day tell him that his father died."
"You would have me dead again?"
"It is the only way."
"Then"—Drummond took a deep, wrenching breath—"I will leave tonight. And however much I want to beg you—beseech you—to change your mind, to take the chance for happiness that stands now within our grasp, I won't. Kitty, never look back on this moment and wonder if you were in any way to blame. You are not. It was I who ruined our future."
"We should be getting back. It's growing dark." Kitty rose, her limbs hanging limply, as though she were a stuffed toy plucked of its innards.
"Can I at least hold you one last time? To say good-bye?"
Kitty had no energy to answer yes or no. She let him take her in his arms and they stood close together for the last time.
Eventually he released her and offered her his hand, and they walked back together across the sand.
Kitty was only glad that Charlie was already in bed by the time they arrived home. She fled to her bedroom and shut the door, then sat in a chair like a condemned woman, waiting for the sound of Drummond's feet along the hall, and the click of the front door that would tell her he was gone. Instead, she saw shadows outside her window, and the sound of voices. Rising from her bed and peering out, she saw Drummond talking to Camira in the garden. Five minutes later, there was a knock on Kitty's door.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Kitty, but I must give you something before I leave." Drummond proffered a small leather box to her. "It is the reason why I am still alive today. Andrew received a telegram as we were sailing up from Fremantle. He told me that there was a pearl—a very famous pearl—that he'd heard through his contacts was for sale. He'd done much detective work to confirm its provenance, and had contacted the third party acting for the seller. The telegram he received in return said he was to bring the cash to the appointed place, some hours' journey from Geraldton. As you know, I agreed to be his messenger, left the ship, and went to collect the pearl. With Andrew advising me of what to look for when I saw it, I knew it was genuine. So," he sighed, "my last gesture to my brother is to deliver the Roseate Pearl into his wife's hands as he wished. It is worth a king's ransom—almost two hundred grains heavy—and Andrew could hardly wait to see it around your neck, to show both his love for you and his success to the whole of Broome."
"I—"
"Wait, Kitty. There is more. You must know that legend has it that the pearl is cursed. Every legal owner has allegedly died a sudden, shocking death. Andrew was the current owner of the pearl, and he lies at the bottom of the sea. Kitty, even though I must do as my brother asked, I entreat you to rid yourself of it as soon as you can. Never own it. In fact, I shall not put it into your hands, but leave it wherever you deem a safe place. I beg you not to touch it."
Kitty studied the box, then Drummond's face, and saw not one hint of mirth in his eyes. He was deadly serious.
"Can I at least see it?"
Drummond opened the box and Kitty looked down at the pearl. It was the size of a large marble, with a rose-gold hue of utter perfection. Its magnificent opalescence gave off its own light and pulled one's eyes toward it.
Kitty drew in her breath. "Why, it is beautiful, the most exquisite pearl I have ever seen . . ." She reached her fingers toward it but Drummond drew the box from her reach.
"Do not touch it! I do not want your death on my conscience along with the other dreadful things I have done." He closed the box. "Where should I put it for safekeeping?"
"In there." Kitty went to her writing bureau and unlocked the secret drawer that lay beneath it. Drummond slid the box inside and locked it firmly away.
"Swear to me you will not touch it," he begged her as he pressed the key into her hand.
"Drummond, surely you of all people cannot believe such a story? There are many that circulate about certain pearls in Broome. They're all fantasy."
"Sadly, after the past few weeks, I do believe it. While I carried that pearl, I believed it had saved my life. And it was while it was in my possession that I came up with my plan. I felt . . . invincible, as though the impossible was possible. I was euphoric. And now, I have lost everything that matters. My soul is as dead as my father and brother. So, I must say good-bye. And if we ever meet again, I hope I will be able to show you that I have learned from my dreadful mistake. Please try to forgive me. I love you, my Kat. Forever." Drummond turned and headed for the door.
Every instinct in Kitty begged her feet to go the few yards toward him, to drag him back to her, to live and take the chance he had created for them to walk to the bedroom now as man and wife. But she stood firm.
"Good-bye." He smiled at her one last time. And then he left.
## 23
Alicia Hall
Victoria Avenue
Adelaide
5th June 1912
My dear Kitty,
It is with a heavy heart that I write to you, because you alone can imagine the joy I felt when I received Andrew's telegram from Broome telling me the miraculous news of his survival.
My dear, you are the only other soul I know who truly understands what it is like to go through the gamut of emotions I have suffered in the past few weeks. In truth, for days after the tragedy, I struggled to find a reason to go on. My entire world was lost to me in the space of a few hours, but thankfully I had the Lord.
To have Andrew return to us was a miracle that we could hardly have hoped to receive. But receive it we did, although, as I said above, it will not be on a happy note that I end this letter.
I was fully expecting Andrew to visit me here in Adelaide so that I could see my precious son with my own eyes. Yet, yesterday I received a visit from Mr. Angus, the family solicitor, to say that Andrew had been to see him and had asked him to pass on a letter he had written to me. According to Mr. Angus, it seems that the blow of losing both his father and brother on a voyage that Andrew himself was meant to take has affected him deeply. He carries dreadful guilt that he still walks the earth while they have been taken. Dear Kitty, perhaps the shock has been simply too much for him, for Mr. Angus inferred that he did not seem to have his full faculties and seemed quite unlike himself.
Andrew asked Mr. Angus to tell me—and you—that he has decided to go away to recover. To put himself back together, if you will. I only wish he had come to me in person as I would have entreated him to stay. There are many good doctors who can help with a nervous collapse—he always was highly strung as a child—but Andrew apparently insisted he needed to do it alone. He also asked Mr. Angus to beg your forgiveness for deserting you so soon after he was returned, but he did not wish to inflict his confused state of mind on you.
I wish I could provide comfort by telling you when he will return to us, but he gave Mr. Angus no indication. He also—although I believe it was madness to do so—insisted on putting all the Mercer business interests into a trust for Charlie. Mr. Angus brought the documents around to show me and it was quite dreadful to see that the signature hardly resembled Andrew's at all. If Andrew has not returned, the businesses will pass to Charlie when he is twenty-one.
In Andrew's letter, he tells me he visited Noel Donovan before he left Broome and told him of his decision. Mr. Donovan is a capable man and will no doubt run the business efficiently. Andrew has also made you, Kitty, the sole executor of Charlie's trust. Again, I queried his decision—the responsibility places a heavy burden upon you—but Andrew tells me he trusts your judgment implicitly.
I should also mention that when Mr. Angus read out the wills of my beloved husband and Drummond, made only a few weeks previously when they were here in Adelaide, Charlie's dear uncle had also endowed his nephew with all his worldly goods, which means that our beloved boy is the sole heir to the Mercer fortune. What a weight lies on his young shoulders, but as it stands, there is nothing we women can do to alter Andrew's wishes. His letter asked me to assure you that a sizeable monthly sum will be deposited into your Broome account from the trust, which will amply cover your living costs. I realize, however, that it is but cold comfort in the face of—for now at least—losing your husband once more.
Dear Kitty, I am sure that this will come as another shock to your already battered nerves. I beg you to consider bringing yourself and my grandson back to live at Alicia Hall, so we can take comfort and strength from each other as we ride out this new storm.
All we can do is pray for Andrew and his swift return.
Please let me know of your decision forthwith.
Edith
Kitty put down the letter, feeling cold beads of sweat break out over her body and bile rise to her throat, before running to the basin in her bedroom and vomiting into it. Wiping her mouth and face with a towel, she carried the basin to the privy and emptied it into the bowl, as if she were discarding the last, poisonous entrails of Drummond's deception. Camira found her washing out the bowl in the kitchen.
"You bin sick again, Missus Kitty? You ill? I gettum doctor fella come an' see you. Skin an' bone, that what you are," she clucked as she filled a cup from a pitcher of water and handed it to Kitty.
"Thank you. I am fine, really."
"You look in dat mirror lately, Missus Kitty? You like-a spirit."
"Camira, where is Charlie?"
"In hut with Cat."
"Then I must tell you that Mister Boss has gone away for a while."
Camira eyed her suspiciously. "Which 'Mister Boss'?"
"Andrew—my husband, of course."
"Maybe for best." Camira nodded knowingly. "Me an' Fred takem care of you an' Charlie. Dem men"—Camira's eyebrows drew together—"makem big trouble."
"They certainly do." Kitty smiled weakly at Camira's understatement.
"Missus Kitty, I—"
Charlie and Cat arrived at the kitchen door, and Camira sighed and said no more.
That afternoon, Kitty sat on the veranda and reread her mother-in-law's letter. Given that Drummond had sent a telegram to say that "Andrew" had survived, Kitty supposed Drummond had had little alternative but to carry his charade through until the end. At least he had kept his promise to her and disappeared. She was particularly moved by the fact that, before any of this had happened, Drummond had already left all that was his to Charlie in his will.
Now that her initial horror had abated, Kitty knew she was in danger of wishing she had never acted in such haste. First had come anger, then sorrow, and finally regret. During the long, achingly lonely nights, Kitty agonized over whether she should have allowed some time to let the dust settle. Now it was too late—Drummond had gone forever as she had asked him to.
Having mourned him once, she now had to mourn him again.
Charlie hardly raised a glance when he was told "Papa" had gone away again on business. Having become used to Andrew's absences, and involved as he was in his own childish world of make-believe with Cat, he accepted it without rancor. Heartbreakingly, Charlie talked far more of "Uncle Drum."
"I know he went up to heaven 'cause God wanted him, but we miss his games, don't we, Cat?"
"Yes, we do." Cat nodded solemnly.
Kitty smiled at the little girl's speech. Kitty had spoken to her in English from birth and she even knew a little German too. She was a lovely child: polite, well mannered, and the apple of her mother's eye. Yet Kitty wondered what Cat's future could hold. For, despite her beauty and intelligence, she was a half-caste child: an outcast to both her parents' cultures, and therefore at the mercy of the society that currently ruled them.
Kitty slid open the drawer in her writing desk to write to Edith and refuse her offer of a home for her and Charlie at Alicia Hall. Even though she was aware of how challenging it would be to stay in Broome as a widow, at least she had her independence here. Perhaps, she thought, she might take Charlie to Scotland in the next few weeks to meet his family and decide whether to return there permanently.
Her fingers felt the coolness of the brass key that unlocked the secret drawer. Amid the chaos of her emotions, she had forgotten about the pearl that Drummond had given her just before he'd left. She unlocked the drawer, pulled out the box, and opened its lid. And there it sat, shining in the light, its magnificent pink sheen and size marking it out as a pearl of great worth. Any malevolence it was reputed to hold was deeply hidden in the grain of sand that had given birth to its luminous beauty. Like the evil but beautiful queen of childhood fairy tales, its outer shell gave no hint of what it hid at its core.
Heeding Drummond's warning not to touch it and never to "own" it, Kitty put it down and paced the room. In one sense, it was Andrew's last gift to her and should be put on display around her neck and treasured. On the other hand, if Drummond was right, a deadly curse was attached to it.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come," called Kitty, still thinking.
"Missus Kitty, dem children, they restless an' say to me an' Fred they want to run on beach. I—" Camira's glance fell on the pearl and her black eyebrows drew together. "Missus Kitty, you nottum touch that!" Camira mumbled some words to herself and dragged her eyes away as a shaft of sunlight sent sparkles reflecting off the pearl. "Closem box! Now! Do not look, Missus Kitty! Closem box!"
Automatically, Kitty did as she was bid as Camira unfastened the window behind the desk.
"Dun worry, Missus Kitty, I savem you." Muttering further incomprehensible words as Kitty looked on in astonishment, Camira drew a handful of her muslin skirt into her palm, swiped at the box, and hurled it through the open window.
"What on earth are you doing?! That pearl is valuable, Camira! Extremely valuable. What if we cannot find it?" Kitty craned her neck out of the window.
"I see it," Camira said, pointing to where the box had fallen. "Missus Kitty, you no sella dat pearl. No takem money for it. Understand?"
"My . . . husband mentioned the curse that was attached to it, but surely that's just an old wives' tale?"
"Then you tellum me why Mister Boss now dead? And many before him."
"You mean, Mister Drum, Camira," she corrected sharply.
"Missus Kitty," she said with a sigh, "I knowum dem fellas from each other, even if you don't."
"I . . ." Kitty realized there was no point attempting to keep up the charade as far as Camira was concerned. "You believe in the curse?"
"The spirits find greedy men and killem them. I can feel dem bad spirits around that box. I tellum Mister Drum no good."
"What do you suggest I do with it, if I can't sell it, Camira? Apart from the fact it was my last present from Andrew, it is worth a fortune. I can hardly just throw it into the rubbish."
"You give to me. I takem box away so no harm comin'."
"Where?" Kitty's eyes narrowed for a second, thinking that, however much she loved and trusted Camira, the girl was poor and the pearl was worth a whole new life to her and her child.
Camira studied her expression and, as usual, read her thoughts. "You keepum that bad cursed pearl, an' you sell for money from the big rich fella, an' Charlie orphan in three months." She crossed her arms and looked away.
"All right," Kitty agreed. After all, she hardly needed the money and nor did her son. "It's brought the most dreadful luck to all of us. If I was to believe in the curse myself, I might say that it has destroyed our family." Kitty swallowed hard and eyed Camira. "Maybe the sooner it's gone, the sooner we can all begin to breathe again."
"Fred takem me to place he know. Me an' Cat go for one day with him." Camira walked toward the door. "Best thing, Missus Kitty. Putta bad thing where it can't do no harm."
"You make sure it doesn't. Thank you, Camira."
A few days later, Kitty had a visit from Noel Donovan.
"Forgive me for intruding again, Mrs. Mercer, and at such a difficult time for your family, but I am sure ye'll be knowing that your husband has placed the running of the Mercer Pearling Company into my hands until either he returns, or little Charlie comes of age."
"Let us pray it will be the former," Kitty replied.
"Of course, and I'll not be doubting it. Such a difficult time for ye, Mrs. Mercer. Me own family lost ten in the potato famine last century. That's what brought what was left of us here. There's many a man and woman who's arrived on these shores through tragedy."
"I did not arrive with it, but it seems to have followed me here," Kitty said brusquely. "Now, Mr. Donovan, what can I do for you?"
"Well, the thing is that you'd be the closest to knowing what was going through Andrew's mind. And I'm wondering if ye know exactly when he'll be back."
"He gave me no indication, Mr. Donovan."
"Did he not talk over your supper table as my missus and I tend to?" Noel continued to press her. "If anyone knows his thoughts on the future of the business, 'twould be you."
"Yes, of course." Some deeper instinct in Kitty told her to answer in the affirmative. "Before his departure, we spoke of many things."
"Then ye'll be aware that your husband removed twenty thousand pounds from the company bank account only a few days before the Koombana went down?"
Kitty's stomach plummeted as she realized what Andrew had almost certainly used the money for. "Yes. What of it?"
"Perhaps 'twas for a new lugger?"
"Yes, that's right."
"And would ye be knowing who was building it? There seems to be no record in the ledgers."
"I'm afraid not, although I believe it was a company in England."
"Could well be. The fact remains, Mrs. Mercer, that we lost three luggers in the cyclone. I'm thanking God 'twas the lay-up season, or 'twould surely have been more. The problem is that, combined with the deficit of twenty thousand pounds, it means that we're running a substantial overdraft with the bank."
"Are we really?" Although Kitty was shocked, she did not show her surprise. "Surely the debt can be repaid over an agreed period of time, while the company recovers from its loss?"
"Twenty thousand pounds and three luggers down is a lot to recover from, Mrs. Mercer. Even with a good haul in the coming months, I'd say 'twould take us a good three years to pay it off before we're back into profit. Unless, of course, we strike lucky . . ." Noel's voice trailed off and she read the concern on his normally placid features.
"I see."
"And the other problem we have, if ye don't mind me saying so, is that morale among the crew's low. 'Tis the double loss, see. However hard your husband worked, many of them would still be seeing Mr. Stefan as the boss. As it is, with Mr. Andrew absent, some of our best men are being lured into taking offers from other companies. Only yesterday, Ichitaro, our most experienced diver, told me that he and his tender were off to work for the Rubin company. 'Tis a huge blow, and will only encourage other men to do the same."
"I understand completely, Mr. Donovan. It is indeed a very concerning situation."
"Well now." Noel stood up. "Here's me bothering you about business at a time when ye yerself have lost so much. I'll be on me way."
"Mr. Donovan." Kitty also stood. "It seems to me that, as you say, the men are dispirited and without a leader. Perhaps it might be a good idea if I came down to the office and spoke to them? Explained that the Mercer Pearling Company is still very much a going concern, and that there is no cause for alarm?"
Noel looked doubtful. "I'd say that—without wishing to offend you, Mrs. Mercer—I'm not sure they'd be listening to a woman."
"Do men not listen to their wives or take comfort from them at home?" Kitty retorted, and Noel blushed.
"Well now, maybe ye are right. And I can't say as 'twould do harm. Our luggers are due out the day after tomorrow. We've been delayed by trying to find replacement crew."
"Have you yet paid those men who have said they are leaving?"
"No. They'll be coming in for their final wages in the morning."
"Then please gather together as many crew as you can drag out of the bars and whorehouses and tell them that the new boss of the Mercer Pearling Company wishes to address them all at eleven o'clock tomorrow."
Noel raised an eyebrow. "Are ye telling me, Mrs. Mercer, that Andrew has handed the business over to you?"
"In essence, yes. I am executor of the trust in which the business is currently held, so I am the closest thing to a 'boss' there is."
"Well now, there's a thing. I warn ye, Mrs. Mercer, they're a motley crew, so they are, and they'll all be expecting a man."
"I have lived in Broome for five years, Mr. Donovan, and I am hardly unaware of that. I will see you tomorrow at eleven o'clock sharp." Kitty went to the drawer in her writing bureau and counted out a stack of Australian pound notes. "Go to Yamasaki and Mise and buy twenty-four bottles of their best champagne."
"Are you sure 'tis sensible, Mrs. Mercer, given the company's finances?"
"This is not the company's money, Mr. Donovan. It is mine."
"Well now." Noel pocketed the money and offered her a smile. "I'd say that one way or another, our employees are in for a grand shock altogether."
When Noel had left, Kitty called for Fred to take her into town. She walked into Wing Hing Loong's tailoring shop and asked whether he could run her up a long-sleeved bodice and skirt in the white cotton drill used for the pearling masters' suits. The bodice was to have five large pearl buttons, which fastened at the front, and a mandarin collar. Having offered double the normal cost to make sure that the garments would be ready for collection at nine the following morning, she returned home and spent the afternoon pacing the drawing room to think what she would say when she addressed the men. At a loss, and wondering if she was completely mad to do this, she remembered her father standing in the pulpit each Sunday. She had often watched the crowd mesmerized, not by his words, but by the sheer strength of his belief in them, and his undoubted charisma.
It's worth a try for Andrew, for Charlie, and for Drummond, she told herself, as an idea suddenly came to her.
Kitty studied her image in the looking glass the following morning. She fastened on the small gold chain taken from Andrew's pristine white jacket, which was the symbol of a master pearler. She picked up the white pith helmet, put it on her head, and chuckled at her reflection. Maybe it was a little too much, but nevertheless, she stowed it by Andrew's leather case, which he had used to transfer his papers between office and home.
Taking one last glance at her reflection, she drew in a deep breath.
"Kitty McBride, you were not born your father's daughter for nothing . . ."
"Gentlemen," Kitty began as she looked down at the sea of male faces below her, wondering briefly how many different nationalities she was addressing. Japanese, Malay, Koepanger, and a slew of whiter faces peppered among them. She could see some of them were already sniggering and whispering to each other.
"First of all, I wish to introduce myself to those of you who do not know me. My name is Katherine Mercer, and I am the wife of Mr. Andrew Mercer. Due to the recent loss of his father and brother, Mr. Mercer has been forced to take a leave of absence from Broome to deal with our family's affairs. I hope we would all wish him well on his travels, and pray for him to find the strength to deal with such matters at a difficult time for him personally."
Kitty heard a slight quaver in her voice as she repeated the lie.
No sign of weakness, Kitty, they'll smell it a mile off . . .
"While he is absent, he has asked me to act in his stead, ably assisted by Mr. Noel Donovan, who will continue to run the business day to day."
She saw a number of raised eyebrows and heard whispers of protest from the audience. She garnered every ounce of strength she possessed to carry on.
"Gentlemen, I have recently heard rumors in the town that the Mercer Pearling Company is struggling financially, due to the loss of three of our luggers in the cyclone. Some have claimed we may well go out of business. I am sure it is none of you here today who would have been so heartless as to spread such rumors given the tragedy that has beset not just our family, but the entire town of Broome. And that each and every one of you remembers fondly the man who began all this originally, Mr. Stefan Mercer. The Mercer Pearling Company is one of the oldest and most well established in our town and has provided many of you with an income for yourselves, your wives, and your children.
"I am here to tell you that the rumors of financial trouble are completely unfounded. They have been put about by those who are jealous of our heritage and would wish us to fail. The Mercer empire is one of the wealthiest and most successful in Australia and I can assure every man here that there is no shortage of cash, either in the pearling company, or on a wider scale. As of this morning, Mr. Donovan and I have signed a contract for three new luggers to be built. We hope to add a further two by the end of the year."
Kitty took a breath and gauged the pulse of her audience. Some men had turned to a neighbor to translate what she was saying. Many were nodding in surprise.
I nearly have them . . .
"Rather than the business collapsing, on the contrary, we will be looking to recruit the best men in Broome to join us in the next few months. My own and my husband's wish is to continue to make the Mercer Pearling Company the greatest in the world."
At this, a few cheers came up from the men, which gave Kitty the courage to continue.
"I accept that some of you here today have already decided to move on. You shall of course be paid whatever is due to you. If you wish to reconsider and stay, you will receive the ten percent bonus on your wages that Mr. Stefan Mercer requested for all his staff in his will.
"Gentlemen, on behalf of the Mercer family, I beg your forgiveness for the uncertainty that has beset you in the past few weeks. And your understanding that we, among so many families here in Broome, have struggled with the loss we have been dealt. Some of you will also doubt the capabilities of a female caretaker. Yet, I beg you to look to the women in your own family and admit their strengths. They run your households, no doubt the family accounts, and juggle the needs of many. I may not outwardly show the strength or the courage to ride the ocean that every one of you displays day after day, but I have a heart full of both. And the blessing of my dear departed father-in-law and my husband to steer the Mercer Pearling Company into the future."
Trying not to pant with emotion and stress, Kitty looked down at her audience and saw they were silent now, straining to catch every word she spoke. As per her request, trays of glasses containing champagne were being distributed around the room. Noel appeared beside her and offered her a glass, which she took.
"Tomorrow, I will be on the dock to wave those of you who are still with us off to sea. To wish you good fortune and pray for a safe harbor on your return. Finally, I would like us all to raise our glasses to all the men who were lost to us in the recent cyclone. And particularly to our founder, Mr. Stefan Mercer." Kitty raised her glass. "To Stefan!"
"To Stefan," the men chorused as Kitty took a gulp of champagne with them.
Another silence, then someone from the audience shouted, "Three cheers for Mrs. Mercer. Hip hip!"
"Hooray!"
"Hip hip!"
"Hooray!"
"Hip hip!"
"Hooray!"
Kitty staggered slightly and felt a strong arm go about her as Noel helped her into a chair to the side of the warehouse and she sat down gratefully.
"That was some speech ye gave there," he said as they watched the men having their glasses refilled and beginning to talk among themselves. "Even I was convinced," he whispered to her with a smile. "I'd doubt there was a man among them that wasn't. Though the Lord alone knows how we'll pay for the promises ye've just made."
"We have to find a way, Noel," she told him, "and find a way we will."
"Ye look exhausted, Mrs. Mercer. Why don't ye be off home now and rest? Ye've done your bit here, and that's for sure. Now they'll be wanting to drain their glasses and get their money, including the bonus you offered them, and, Mrs. Mercer, the accounts are drained already . . ."
"I have the extra amount with me," Kitty said firmly. "Now, if you have no objection, I would like to greet each of the men personally and pay them what they are due."
"I'd have no objection, of course." Noel looked at her in awe, gave her a small bow, and hurried away to the clerk in the back office to retrieve the wages.
At four o'clock that afternoon, Kitty was helped down from the cart by Fred. She staggered through the front door of the house.
"I'm taking a rest," she said to Camira as she passed her in the entrance hall. "Could you bring a fresh pitcher of water to my room?"
"Yessum, Missus Kitty." Camira bobbed her habitual curtsy, then studied her mistress. "You sick again?"
"No, just very, very tired."
Kitty lay on her bed and enjoyed the fresh breeze coming through the open window. In the three hours it had taken to greet each man and ask after him and his family, not a single one had requested his final wages. They had come to her instead with an embarrassed smile, told her of their belief in the Mercer Pearling Company, and offered their sympathy—sometimes through a translator—for her recent loss.
The company now had an even larger deficit in the bank, but a full crew and divers and tenders that would set sail tomorrow to restore the fortunes of the ailing company.
Kitty closed her eyes and thanked God for the Wednesday breakfasts her father had insisted on when she was a child. His potted biography of Elizabeth Tudor—even if she had put her Scottish cousin Mary to death—had inspired her speech today.
Though I have the body of a weak and feeble woman . . . , Elizabeth had said as she'd addressed her armies at Tilbury Docks, ready to defeat the Spanish Armada.
Forgive me, Andrew, I have done my best for you today . . .
For the following two weeks, Kitty rose early and was at the office before Noel. She studied the ledgers with a careful eye, using the basic experience she had gleaned from totting up her father's parish accounts. There were various inconsistencies—amounts of cash withdrawn that she queried with the clerk.
"Ask Mr. Noel. He authorized them," the man told her.
"Well now, there's sometimes an occasion when a diver has a snide pearl—that is, one that he has smuggled off the lugger. If he believes it might be valuable . . ." Noel looked down at his hands, which were clasping and unclasping nervously. "Rather than having the diver steal it and keep the value totally for himself, Mr. Andrew—and Mr. Stefan before him—would offer an amount in cash for any man who would bring what they believed to be a particularly special pearl to them. Some of them turned out to be nothing more than blister pearls, but this way, the risk was shared. Do ye see?"
"Yes, I understand completely."
Kitty made an appointment at the bank for that afternoon, and sat across the desk from Mr. Harris. His face looked pained as she explained the situation to him.
"I assure you that there is no shortage of funds, Mr. Harris. The Mercer empire is worth a fortune."
"That may be, Mrs. Mercer, but I'm afraid the bank needs immediate surety. Perhaps you can transfer such funds from another part of the Mercer empire." The bank manager remained stony-faced, used to living in a town full of souls who would blag their way into gaining further months of credit.
Given the fact that Kitty had no idea what was in the Mercer bank accounts and knowing she would need to take a trip to Adelaide to visit the family lawyer to find out, she nodded.
"I am aware of that. Could you perhaps give me a month's leeway?"
"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Mercer. The overdraft is currently running at twenty-three thousand pounds."
"Perhaps our house could provide temporary surety for you?" she suggested. "It is in the best part of Broome, and sumptuously furnished. Will you accept that until I can arrange further funds?"
"Mrs. Mercer," the bank manager said with a frown, "far be it from me to advise you, but are you sure this is wise? Perhaps you do not realize just how capricious the pearling industry can be. I would be most distressed to find you and your son without a roof over your heads in the future."
"It is indeed a capricious business, Mr. Harris, and if one was a gambler, one might also bet on the fact that the Mercer family is due a run of good luck after such a difficult time. I will bring the deeds to you tomorrow."
"As you wish, Mrs. Mercer. And the bank will require the rest of the funds to be replaced within the next six months."
"Agreed. However," Kitty said as she rose, "if I even hear a whisper about this transaction from any quarter of this town, all our business with you will be withdrawn forthwith. Is that understood?"
"It is."
"Good. I will be back tomorrow to complete the paperwork."
Kitty left his office with her head held high, fully aware that she didn't need to put herself through this—she and Charlie could scuttle back to Alicia Hall and live in luxury with Edith if she chose to.
"A fate worse than death." She repeated Drummond's words as she left the bank and walked out into the burning midday sun. Living a lie here alone was one thing, but to live it every day under the roof of a woman who believed her eldest son was alive and would one day return was another.
Back at home, Kitty's head swam once more and she cursed her skin and bones, knowing she needed to show nothing but strength if the business was to survive. Sitting at her desk, she drew out the ledgers she had brought home with her in Andrew's leather case and studied them again.
"Good Lord." Kitty rested her head on the desk. "What have I begun?"
There was a knock on the door and Camira came in with a tray holding the pot of tea she had requested.
"Thank you," she said, rising from her desk to take it from her.
"Missus Kitty, you look like you dead too. Rest, you needum rest."
"It is merely the heat, and I . . ."
Camira watched in horror as her beloved mistress collapsed on the floor.
"Madam, when was your last course?"
Kitty looked up into the intelligent dark eyes of Dr. Suzuki. She frowned as she tried to remember, wondering why he wished to know this when it was obvious she was still suffering from exhaustion, plus the remnants of her recent bout of cholera.
"Perhaps two months ago. I really do not know, Dr. Suzuki."
"You have not bled since?"
Kitty shuddered at his lack of delicacy. Even though she knew he was the better physician, Dr. Blick would never have talked in such graphic terms. She thought quickly. "It was the middle of April," Kitty lied. "Now I remember."
"Really? Well now, that surprises me. I would say that your baby is around four months in gestation."
"I am pregnant? Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
It can't be true . . .
"Apart from your condition, I can pronounce that you are in perfect health. May I offer my congratulations, madam, and hope your husband returns to you soon so you can share the happy news with him."
"Thank you," said Kitty numbly.
"You have endured terrible loss, but what God takes away, he returns. Now, I can only prescribe as much rest as possible. You are far too thin and the baby is obviously large. Stay in bed for the next month and preserve the life that is growing inside you."
Kitty watched in shocked silence as Dr. Suzuki packed away his instruments.
"Good day to you, Mrs. Mercer. I am at your service, should you need me." He gave her a small bow and left her bedroom.
"No, please . . . ," Kitty gasped as a small tear dribbled from her eye in protest. "I have so much to do."
She looked up at the ceiling and saw a large spider making its way across it. And remembered how Drummond had appeared in her bedroom to save her all those years ago.
"I am pregnant with your child . . . ," she breathed, then thanked the stars in the sky that at least his recent deception would allow everyone to believe it was her husband's baby. From what she remembered, her last bleed had been in mid-February . . .
"Oh Lord." Kitty bit her lip. "What a mess," she whispered.
Tentatively, she touched her stomach.
"Forgive me," she begged this new life that was innocent of all sin. "For you will never be able to know the truth of who your father is."
Broome
January 1929
17 YEARS LATER
## 24
The sun had long since set when Kitty raised her tired eyes from the ledger in front of her. Taking off her reading glasses, she rested an elbow on her desk and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. Glancing at the clock on the office wall, she saw it was well past eight. The staff would all have left the building by now and she knew she probably should too, but if she was honest, it was quite normal for her to sit here burning the midnight oil.
She let out a sigh as she thought of Charlie, her darling son. She had meant to meet him off the boat earlier, but a lugger had arrived unexpectedly with a rich haul of shell and she had become distracted and missed him.
On the one hand, she was extremely proud that all her hard work and her canny nose for business had not only restored but grown the Mercer empire over the past seventeen years. And that Charlie would inherit the fruits of her labor lock, stock, and barrel when he turned twenty-one in just two days' time. On the other hand, she felt guilty that he'd been made a virtual orphan by the business and her dedication to it.
At least her guilt was partially salved by knowing that while she'd been toiling at the office, he'd been nurtured at home under Camira's protective wing, with Cat always close by as a playmate. The special bond that had continued to flourish between them over the years had not escaped Kitty's notice. Even when he'd left for boarding school in Adelaide, a wish of Andrew's that she'd honored and, under the circumstances, the best solution, the two of them had spent his holidays together.
It was perhaps just as well that Elise Forsythe, an extraordinarily pretty and well-bred young lady, newly arrived in Broome with her family, would be joining the company as Charlie's secretary when he took over the business full-time. Kitty had handpicked Elise for the position. Although she mentally chided herself for her matchmaking, it was vital that Charlie choose a suitable wife who could love and support him as he took on the role of head of the Mercer empire.
As for herself, she'd told no one of her own plans yet, but she had a clear idea of what she would do once she finally handed over the reins to her son. She worried about not having the distraction of work in the future, since it had given her mind somewhere else to go whenever it began to wander in the direction of Drummond and all that had happened seventeen years ago . . . The devastation she had felt at his loss, doubled by an equally painful loss five months later, had almost destroyed her.
There had been no one else since, although there had been any number of suitors willing to put their hats in the ring to wed the young, beautiful, and very wealthy owner of the most successful pearling business in Broome. When she'd promised herself never to love again after Drummond had left, she had kept to her word. Her lover had been her business, her bedtime companions the accounts ledgers.
"Good grief! I've become a man," she said with a grim chuckle. Then, putting her glasses back on, she returned her attention to the ledger.
"Thank you, Alkina." Charlie gave her a surreptitious wink as she served both him and his mother breakfast. As usual, Alkina ignored it for fear of his mother noticing, but given that Kitty's nose was buried as usual in the pages of the Northern Times, it was unlikely she'd notice if the ceiling fell upon her head.
"My goodness," Kitty said with a sigh as she turned the page of her newspaper. "There's been a riot at Port Adelaide. It's lucky you left in time." She shook her head and put the paper down to speak to Charlie. "Have you had a chance yet to peruse the guest list for your birthday dinner on Thursday evening? I've invited the usual clutch of the great and the good in Broome. I can hardly believe that in a few days you'll be taking your rightful place among them. How time flies," Kitty sighed. "It seems only yesterday that you were a babe in my arms."
Charlie wanted to retort that the past twenty-one years felt as if they had gone excruciatingly slowly; he'd waited for this moment for so long. "No, not yet, but I'm sure you will have left no one out, Mother."
"This afternoon, Mr. Soi is coming with your pearling master's uniforms. I've ordered a dozen, although it looks to me as though you have lost weight since I last saw you. What have you been eating in Adelaide, I wonder. And this morning I wish for you to accompany me to the office. I have employed a very efficient young lady called Miss Forsythe to be your secretary. She comes highly recommended and is from one of the best families in Broome."
"Yes, Mother," Charlie responded, used to her irritating habit of trying to set him up with any female under the age of twenty-five who came to town. Surely, he thought, as his gaze followed Alkina's lithe body out of the room, his mother knew that he only had eyes for one woman? What a relief it would be when he made his announcement and the whole charade would be over.
"So, we shall meet by the car in thirty minutes?"
"Yes, Mother," he said as he watched her rise from her chair. He knew the locals wondered if she was happy, commenting on how, after almost seventeen years since her husband's disappearance, it must be possible to apply for an annulment on the grounds of desertion. After all, she was just into her forties. He had tentatively raised the subject with her a couple of years ago, emphasizing that she shouldn't feel guilty if she wished to officially end her marriage to his father.
"I really wouldn't mind. I just want you to be happy, Mother," he'd finished lamely.
"I appreciate your sentiments and thank you for them, but I shall never marry again." Seeing the look on his mother's face as she had swept from the room, Charlie had never taken the subject farther.
As his mother went to her study to collect her business ledgers for the day, Charlie went in search of Alkina. He came upon Camira in the kitchen.
"Cat gone out, Mister Charlie," she said before he could even ask. "She gottum errands. Dun worry, she back later. You get outta here." She shooed him out of the kitchen, and Charlie trudged despondently to his bedroom to get ready for the office.
It was four months since he'd last been home from Adelaide, the longest time he and Alkina had ever been separated, and he was desperate to hold her in his arms. When he'd finished his final university exams at the end of November, he'd already packed to return to Broome. But he was literally stopped at the door by a telegram from his mother telling him that his grandmother Edith had died the night before. Instead of boarding the ship, he'd been ordered to wait for his mother in Adelaide to make the necessary arrangements.
They had buried Edith and subsequently spent Christmas at Alicia Hall. Kitty had then taken Charlie to the vineyards in the Adelaide Hills, where she had encouraged him to engage with the manager there, in preparation for taking over the business. Then they had traveled to Coober Pedy so that his mother could show him the opal mine. She had insisted he stay there for two weeks to get to know the workings of the industry while she traveled back to Broome.
At least his extended time in Adelaide had given him a chance to meet up regularly with his oldest friend, Ted Strehlow. He had known Ted since the age of eleven when they had slept next to each other in a dormitory at Immanuel College. Both had continued to the University of Adelaide, and whereas Charlie had slogged away at his economics degree, Ted had read classics and English, but was determined to become an anthropologist and go on to study the history of the Aboriginals. It was a world away from the business of making money from the labor of others, and Charlie couldn't help but envy him for it. He'd have done anything to be free of the responsibilities that lay ahead.
"Charlie, are you nearly ready to leave?" Kitty called to him.
"Yes, Mother," he sighed, "coming right away."
Charlie went through the day trying hard to be mentally present with a tailor who was proud to have the honor of making his first pearling master's suits. Then it was off to the office by the harbor to meet his new secretary, Elise Forsythe. She was indeed pretty, in an insipid English way that Charlie thought could not hold a candle to the dark, exotic beauty of Cat. Afterward, he attended a meeting with Noel Donovan and the rest of the senior staff. He sat at the mahogany table in the boardroom, listening to the conversation about the Japanese competitors.
"They call it a 'cultured' pearl, but how can they possibly believe that the word 'culture' can be attached to something that is a crude copy, as opposed to being fashioned by nature alone?" His mother gave a disparaging snort of laughter.
"I hear, ma'am, that Mikimoto is flooding the markets," said the company accountant. "His spherical pearls are almost indistinguishable from the natural, and he has recently opened another store in Paris. They are called South Sea pearls and—"
"If people wish to buy cheap imitations of the real thing, let them get on with it," Kitty retorted. "I'm sure such a thing would never be countenanced here. Now, gentlemen, if there's no more business, I shall take my son to see his new office." She stood up and the men followed, their chair legs scraping against the wooden floor. She swept out of the room and Charlie followed her down the hallway, along which were offices piled high with paper trays. The clerks within them gave servile nods as Kitty and Charlie passed by. His mother unlocked a door at the end of a corridor and ushered him inside.
"Now, darling, what do you think of this? I've had it fitted out for you as a surprise."
Charlie stood looking at a gleaming partners desk, a beautiful antique globe, and an exquisite black lacquered sideboard painted delicately with gold butterflies.
"Goodness, Mother, it's wonderful, thank you. I only hope I can live up to everyone's expectations." Charlie walked to the window and gazed out at the dock, seeing the small train that ran the mile down to the town chugging steadily on its way.
"Of course you will. The pearling business is in your blood."
"Mother." Charlie sat down heavily in the high-backed leather chair. "I don't know if I am ready for all this. You have run the business so magnificently for all these years."
"My darling, all I have been is a caretaker for the Mercer empire, bequeathed to you by both your father and your uncle. In the twenty-one years I have watched you grow, you have never given me cause to doubt your suitability. You will make a worthy successor to your father."
"Thank you, Mother." Charlie couldn't help but note that his mother took no credit for herself.
Her bright blue eyes studied him intently. "You have been everything that I, your grandmother, and your father could ever have wished for as an heir. I am so proud of you, Charlie. Just one word of caution . . ." His mother's glance moved away to the window and the sea beyond it.
"Yes, Mother?"
"Don't ever let love blind you. It is the downfall of us all. Now"—she forced a smile onto her face and stood up—"the crews have been prepping the luggers during the lay-up season. Come down to the docks and inspect their work with me."
"Of course, Mother."
As he stood up and followed her out of the office, Charlie felt his stomach turn at her words.
That night, at eleven precisely, having seen the light in his mother's bedroom go out, Charlie left the house as stealthily as the cat he was going to meet, and crossed the terrace into the garden. The grass was springy beneath his feet—the result of Fred's constant ministrations and his mother's continual optimism that one day she would be able to create a garden that would not succumb to the red mud that streamed across it during the Big Wet. She had given up on the rose beds, however, and these days the roses were planted in large pots around the terrace and carried to shelter the moment a storm threatened. Unbeknownst to her, the rose shed had provided a dry and private area for the two young people to meet. It was locked assiduously every night by Fred, but Cat had managed to "borrow" the key, and Charlie had taken it to the locksmith and had a copy made.
He'd turned the rock that sat outside from the red side to the green side earlier. This was the signal they both used to indicate they would meet later that evening when everyone was in bed. They had weathered many storms inside the shed, the roses forming a scented bower as they had lain between them on a rough blanket on the floor and declared their love for each other. And tonight, he had something very special to give her.
He'd spotted it in Ted's apartment when they'd been knocking back some beers to celebrate the New Year. An obsessive collector, Ted's rooms were filled with all manner of stones, shells, and tribal artifacts that he had amassed on his travels. This piece was a small, gleaming amber stone, with what appeared to be a minuscule ant caught inside it, trapped there for millennia. Ted had given it to him when he'd seen Charlie's avid interest, and the very next day he'd taken it to a jeweler on King William Street to have it fashioned into an engagement ring for Cat. The color of the stone would match her eyes perfectly.
Charlie smiled as he remembered when he had first asked Cat to marry him. It had been the evening before he was to leave for boarding school in Adelaide. He had been eleven years old and she had held him as he wept out of fear and loss onto her small, soft shoulder.
"One day, I won't have to do as Mother says, and I'll come back here and we will be married. What am I to do without you?" he'd moaned. "Wait for me, won't you, my Cat?"
"I will wait for you, Charlie. I will wait."
And she had waited, for ten long years, as he had waited for her. He'd written to her from boarding school every Sunday, pouring out his heart as the other boys around him dashed off a quick few words to their parents. He knew she found it difficult to read because she'd had no formal education, but just the process of writing to her comforted him. In return, having issued her with a large supply of stamped and addressed envelopes, he'd receive short and appallingly spelled missives, but she illustrated each letter with carefully drawn pictures of flowers she'd seen, or of the moon hanging low over the sea, with a chain of hearts held together with ivy edging the pages. If she could not speak her love for him, she could draw it.
And tonight—finally—he would ask her to marry him for real.
Charlie looked up to the skies as he heard a faint rumble of thunder. The heat was stifling, and no doubt within the hour there would be a downpour. As he reached for the handle to open the door to the shed, expecting to find it unlocked, trepidation clutched at his heart when it didn't open. Cat was always there first, as she held the key. He tried it again, but it didn't budge. He searched the blackness and listened for her light footsteps across the garden. Perhaps it was simply his imagination, but when she'd looked at him at breakfast that morning, the usual warmth had been missing from her amber eyes. His greatest fear had always been that she would tire of waiting for him and find someone else. But now, he was only hours away from declaring his intentions to the world and their both being free to love each other publicly . . .
His mind flew back to Cat and that last night when he'd been inside the shed with her, just over four months ago. Having grown up together, they hadn't felt the usual embarrassment at each other's bodies as they had matured. Charlie chuckled as he remembered her, age six, sitting in their play hut stark naked and serving him a cup of tea in a miniature china cup. He'd known every inch of her since she was tiny and could only marvel as she blossomed from an arresting child into a beautiful young woman.
They'd had their first adult kiss on his sixteenth birthday, which had been the most wonderful yet frustrating moment of his life, for he had wanted to kiss her not merely on the lips, but all over her perfect body. However, they both knew where such intimate activity could lead, and Charlie blushed at the memory of her slapping his face once when his hand had wandered in the direction of her breast.
"I cannot," she'd wailed. "Don't make me."
Chastened, Charlie had done his best to control his natural physical urges, constantly reminding himself that once they were married, her body would be his by rights.
And then . . . that September night before he was due to return to Adelaide for his last few weeks at university, he'd stolen a bottle of champagne from the drinks cabinet and opened it with her in the hut. She'd eyed it suspiciously after he'd popped the cork and poured out two glasses.
"My mother says this stuff no good for us."
"Just try a glass, you'll love the way the bubbles tickle your tongue," Charlie had urged her. "I swear, it will do you no harm."
She'd taken a sip, just to please him, and closed her eyes to assimilate the new taste.
"I like it!" she'd said eventually as her eyes had opened and she smiled at him. She'd finished that glass, and he'd poured her another. The rest he'd finished off himself, and they'd lain there on the rough blanket, talking of the future.
It had been she who had turned to kiss him, she who had rolled on top of him and led his hand to undo the buttons of her blouse. After that, the bliss of feeling her naked skin against his own had prevented any rational thought from stopping their loving each other. Cat had fallen asleep immediately after, but Charlie had lain awake, capturing every glorious inch of her lying naked next to him. He'd consoled himself with the thought that in a few months' time, they would be man and wife, and even if the event had been premature, he was sure that all of their different gods would forgive them. After all, they were adults, and the act of love was completely natural . . .
Another twenty minutes passed outside the shed, with no sign of Cat. Charlie stood up and paced across the lawn. He entered the house and checked the kitchen to see if she had been delayed there, but the whole house was in darkness. Walking across to the hut that Cat and her mother shared, he saw Fred asleep on his pallet in the stable and felt a pinprick of rain upon his hand. Fred always slept outside unless he'd seen the sign of a storm on its way, when he'd retreat inside for cover. Arriving at the door to the hut, he listened but could hear no sound from within. Clutching the handle, he turned it as quietly as he could. Inside, he saw the moonlight streaming through the shuttered window, illuminating only Camira asleep in the double bed.
As he closed the door, a surge of panic filled him. Where was she? Having made a sweep of the rest of their land, he returned to the rose shed, wondering if they had missed each other while he'd been away. He tried the door, but it was still locked. Charlie sank down onto his haunches, wondering why, so close now to what he had dreamed of for years, she wasn't here.
Perhaps she has met someone else . . . some diver off the luggers, he thought.
Charlie felt his stomach turn, then wondered if he should take the pony and cart and drive into town to search for her. Perhaps Mother had sent her out on a late-night errand, and in going about her business, she'd been accosted, or even raped . . .
The air became still with the complete silence of a pregnant storm before its waters finally broke, and he heard a sudden sound from inside the shed. A small cough, or maybe a hiccup, or a cry . . . he didn't know for sure, but it was enough to spur him to action.
The thunder rumbled above him as he slammed his fist onto the door.
"Cat, I know you're there. Let me in now!"
Another burst of thunder came overhead, and he slammed the door once again. "I will break it down if you don't!"
Finally, the key was turned and Charlie entered to find Cat staring at him with fear accentuating her beautiful eyes.
"For God's sake!" Charlie fell through the door, panting. "Have you been there all the time? Did you not hear me try the lock?"
She lowered her eyes from his gaze.
Charlie closed the door behind him, locked it, then went toward her to take her in his arms. She did not yield to him; it felt akin to holding a plank of wood.
"What is it, my darling? What has happened?"
She pulled away from him, then turned and sat down on the blanket. She said something, but he couldn't hear because the thunder was right above them now, drowning out her low voice.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I said that I am pregnant. I am having a baby. Jalygurr."
Charlie watched as Cat stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop herself screaming. She was shaking from head to foot. There was yet another crash of thunder and the rain began to pelt down onto the tin roof above them.
"I . . ." He went toward her to embrace her, but she backed away, terrified. "Cat, my darling Cat . . . please, don't be frightened of me. I'm not the enemy, really, I—"
"If my mother finds out, she beat me, throw me out on the street! I promised her, I promised . . ."
"My love." Charlie took a couple of tentative steps toward her. "I can understand why you're so distressed, and yes, it is a little premature, but—"
"I promised her, I promised not to do same thing she did," Cat wailed, backing away further. "Never trust them whitefellas, never trust 'em, never trust 'em . . ."
Charlie watched her bring her knees up protectively in front of her. "And your mother was right," he said, taking another step toward her. "But I'm not just any old 'whitefella.' I'm your Charlie, and you're my Cat. Just think of the times we've imagined we would be married and have a family."
"Yes! But we were children, Charlie. It was playing games. Not real life. And now it is. I wanta get rid of it, drown it as soon as it born. Then I won't have this big problem."
Charlie was horrified at her words. "Please, Cat." He took the last two steps toward her. Thunder continued to crash directly above their heads as though the full force of the heavens were voicing its displeasure. "Here in my pocket I have something for you." He crouched down next to her and drew out the amber ring. "Everything is all right, my love. Listen to me." Charlie took her small hand in his. "My darling Cat"—he reached for her fourth finger—"will you marry me?" He slipped the ring onto her finger, then watched her eyes move to the ring and study it silently.
"It's made of amber, and there is some kind of insect caught inside it. I thought it would match your eyes. Do you like it?"
"I . . ." Cat bit her lip. "It a beautiful gift, Charlie."
"See? Everything will be all right. We will be married as soon as possible, my love."
"No." Cat looked up at him. "I can't marry you, Charlie. I am your maid."
"You know I don't care about that! I love you. I've wanted to marry you since I was a small boy."
Cat tipped her eyes up to the heavens. When her gaze returned to him, it was full of sorrow. "Charlie, in twenty-four hours you become most important whitefella in Broome. You inherit the Mercer Pearling Company and become the big bossman. You know lotsa things I don't know, because you had good education. You belong to the whitefellas' world, but I don't."
"I can teach you, Cat, just as I've taught you in the past."
"No! No one would come ta eat at our table with me being your missus. You will be . . ." Cat's eyebrows drew together as she searched for the words. "A laughing pot."
"Stock," Charlie corrected automatically.
"Stock, yes. And our stock is not the same. No." Alkina shook her head firmly. "You needa white woman, not me. I cannot make you proud, be something I not. I don't want dem whitefellas laughing at me behind my back, saying I'm stupid. And they would laugh at me. I'm good person, just different."
"I know, but . . ." Again Charlie dug deep to find the words. "Inside there"—he pointed to her stomach—"is something that both of us made with our love. Surely, we must put that first? If we marry quickly, no one would even know, because the baby would just come early, and—"
"You dreamin' again. Everyone would know why you marry me. It's been four months already." Alkina withdrew her hand and rested her head back on her knees. "They would never believe in our love."
"But I do," Charlie said, his voice strong and clear above the thunder. "I understand that you're all that's kept me going for the last ten years. That there haven't been more than a few minutes—not even during my final exams—when I've not thought of you. Do not . . ." He cupped his palms to her cheeks and lifted her head from her knees. "I repeat, do not ever put me in the same category as other men. I love you with all my heart. You are my jarndu nilbanjun—we are promised to each other. My life would be nothing without you and our baby to come." He reached for her, drew her into his arms, and kissed her roughly, passionately, but she pulled away from him.
"Marlu! No! Stop it! Please stop! For all education, you don't understand! I cannot be your wife. There is no future for us."
"There is, my darling. And yes, you're right, perhaps it will be difficult, and perhaps everyone will be shocked by our union, but surely we owe it to future generations of men and women in this country to make a stand? And I am perfectly placed to do so. In twenty-four hours I will inherit huge wealth. Money talks—especially in this town." Charlie reached for her again and held her taut body against his. "My darling, we're a family already, don't you see? It was meant to be."
"No! I . . . you, an' this"—Cat patted her stomach—"are not experiment. We are human, and dis is our life, Charlie. We have lived side by side, yes? So close together, always, but truth is, we far apart. You walka the world as a whitefella with a veil over your eyes. You do not see how the rest of the world sees me, how they treatem me because of the color of my skin. You do not see how so much of the world is closed to me, because you are free, and I not. An' our baby will not be free."
"Cat, we would be man and wife and the law would allow it! And I will do everything I can to make sure you and our baby are safe, just as my mother did for Camira, for you!" Charlie wrung his hands as he tried to make her understand. "I have nothing without you."
There was silence as they both listened to the rain drumming on the roof.
A long sigh escaped Cat's lips. "Charlie, I thinkum you not live here in Broome for long time now. You don't understand how it is."
"I don't care how it is! We will baptize the baby in front of the entire town! I've been discussing this with Ted—the friend I have told you about whose father ran the Hermannsburg mission near Alice Springs. Ted has taught me so much, he even speaks Arrernte, and tells me that the Aboriginals in the mission are free to come and go as they please. The whitefellas respect your culture, and—"
"Does he knowa 'bout me?"
"Of course he does."
"Would he ever marry a 'creamy' like me?"
"Goodness, I don't know, I've never asked him . . ."
"Hah! Things other fellas tell you but wouldn't do themselves . . ."
"No! That's not right. Ted Strehlow is a good man, a man who means to make a change in Australia."
"He be dead long before it made." Cat tore off the amber ring and offered it to him. "I cannot take this. You have it back, please, Charlie." She pressed it into the palm of his hand. He was just about to entreat her to keep it when there was a sudden loud banging on the door. Both of them nearly jumped out of their skins.
"Is someone in there? Good God, I'm being drowned out here, and so are my roses! Why won't my key fit into the lock?"
"Jidu! Hide!" Charlie hissed to Cat.
Already Cat had stood up and was blowing out candles before removing the blanket from the center of the floor.
"Sorry, Mother, it's me," Charlie called cheerily through the door. "I heard the storm and I've already begun to gather your roses together." Making sure Cat was well hidden in the shadows, he turned the key in the door as quietly as he could and threw it into Cat's hands, as he made a façade of turning the handle numerous times. "Good grief, this lock is sticky, we need to have Fred oil it," he said loudly.
Turning back to the figure in the shadows, he mouthed, "I love you." Then, with an exaggerated jerk, he pulled open the door.
"Mother! You're positively drenched!"
"I am indeed, but I shall dry off soon enough." Kitty stepped into the shed, dragging a tub of roses in behind her. "I've never known that door to jam before. One would almost think that you had locked it from the inside."
"Why would I do that? Right, I'll dive out and try and save the rest of the tubs from imminent death," Charlie chuckled, then stepped out of the shed into the pelting rain.
"Thank you," Kitty said a few minutes later as the last of the roses had been brought in to their safe haven. "I pride myself on knowing when a storm is coming, but tonight," she sighed, "I was so very tired."
"Of course, Mother. You work too hard."
"And I will indeed be relieved to hand over the burden," Kitty replied. "By the way, I have invited Elise Forsythe to come to your birthday celebration. She is such a nice young woman. She told me today after you'd left that her grandfather hails from Scotland."
"What a coincidence. Now, Mother, shall we go to the house and get ourselves dry?"
"Yes. Thank you, my darling. I know I can always depend on you."
"Always, Mother," Charlie said as he closed the door behind them and Kitty locked it.
Once the footsteps had retreated, a figure emerged from the shadows inside the shed. After tiptoeing to the door and unlocking it with the key Charlie had thrown her, she opened it and made her way out into the night.
The storm had abated, at least for a while. Leaning back against the shed, Cat looked up to the heavens, her hands held protectively around her belly.
"Hermannsburg," she breathed as a tear fell down her cheek. "Sanctuary."
Slipping into bed next to her mother as quietly as the cat she was nicknamed after, Alkina tried to still her breathing.
Helpum me . . . please, ancestors, help me, she pleaded.
That night, she dreamed that the Gumanyba had come down to their cave. She watched them as they went through the forest and the old man appeared. They ran off back to their cave, but the youngest was left behind. Suddenly, the old man was pursuing her, but when she arrived in the cave, she knew she had to find something that was buried deep down under the red soil. Her sisters were calling to her, telling her to hurry, that the old man was almost upon her and would take her for his own. Yet still, even though she could hear his feet thundering across the ground, she kept digging because she could not leave the earth without it . . .
Alkina opened her eyes just as the dream version of herself had clutched at a tin and pulled it out of the ground. A memory came flooding back to her of her mother leading her into the bush when she was fourteen to initiate her into the ways of their ancestors. On the way to the corroboree, her mother had said she must stop and check on something. They had arrived at a cave just like the one she'd seen in her dream, and her mother had bent down and begun scrabbling in the earth before drawing out a tin box.
"Step back," she'd told her daughter, as she'd sat cross-legged and opened it. Curious, Alkina had done as she was told, but had watched as her mother had opened the small leather box that lay inside the tin. At that moment, the sun had caught the object inside, which seemed to shimmer with a pink opalescence, the likes of which Alkina had never seen before. It shone like the moon itself, and she had been transfixed by its beauty.
Then the box had been snapped shut, returned to the tin, and buried back in the earth. Her mother had stood, mumbling some words under her breath, then had walked back toward her.
"Bibi, what is that?" Alkina had asked Camira.
"You nottum need know. It safe where it is, and so is Missus Kitty. Now, we go on our way."
As Alkina watched the dawn beginning to break through the wooden shutters of the hut, she knew what she had to do.
## 25
Charlie too had a sleepless night. He tossed and turned, trying to think of what was best to do, and berating himself for having triggered all of this to begin with—after all, it had been he who had given Cat the champagne.
He understood her fear, and there was no doubt it would be hard for them initially. Yet given there were mixed-race unions in the town these days, surely theirs would be accepted too?
There was only one other option, and Charlie had considered it many times in the past year as he'd sweated over his future as a pearling master. No one had ever asked him if it was what he wanted to do. As if he were the son of a king, it was taken for granted he would don the mantle when the time came—no matter if he was even suited to the task. Charlie had known for a while now that he was not. He'd hated every second of his economics course at university. Even his professors had said he did not have an aptitude for numbers, but when he had tentatively raised this with his mother, she had brushed away his doubts.
"My dear Charlie, you are not there to add and subtract, you have plenty of clerks to do that for you. You are there to lead, to inspire, and to make decisions on where the businesses should head in the future."
It was cold comfort, as he was completely uninspired by all facets of the business empire, whether it be pearls, opals, or cattle. They all seemed to involve deprivation and sometimes death for those who worked for the companies, while the "bossmen," as Cat called them, became rich on their employees' toil.
So . . . if Cat refused to marry him in Broome, Charlie was prepared to give up everything and go away with her wherever she wished.
His mother was already at the table when he walked in to breakfast, reading her habitual newspaper.
"Good morning, Charlie. How did you sleep?"
"Well, thank you, Mother. You?"
"Far better after I knew my precious roses were safe from the rains. Thank you for being so thoughtful."
"Coffee, Mister Charlie?"
"Thank you." He looked up, ready to give Cat a smile, but was instead greeted by Camira's eyes looking down at him. A sudden tightness clutched at his chest. Cat always served breakfast.
"Is Cat unwell?"
"She well, Mister Charlie. She go visit cousin," Camira replied calmly.
"I see. When will she be back?"
"When cousin baby born. Maybe one week, maybe two."
Camira's inscrutable eyes bored into him and he broke into a cold sweat, even though the heat of the day was already overpowering. Was she giving him some secret message? Surely Cat would not have told her mother of her condition?
"Right," he managed, trying to still his breathing and keep control in front of his mother—in front of both mothers—when all he wanted to do was jump up from the breakfast table and go and find her.
"Did you say Cat is away?" Kitty removed her reading glasses to look at Camira.
"Yes, Missus Kitty. I take over while she nottum here." Camira replaced the coffeepot on the sideboard and left the room.
"A euphemism that she's gone walkabout," Kitty sighed. "Anyway, the most important thing is you, my dear Charlie. At midnight tonight, you turn twenty-one and become the rightful owner of all the Mercer business interests. How do you feel?"
"A little daunted, Mother."
"There is no need to be, although I cannot say you're taking over at the perfect moment, as shell orders have decreased recently . . ."
Charlie didn't hear what she said, just nodded and smiled appropriately whenever she paused to gauge his reaction.
Cat, where are you?
Eventually, to Charlie's relief, his mother stopped talking and stood up. "So, I suggest you enjoy your last day of freedom before you shoulder your responsibilities. Tomorrow will be a busy day. There is a lunch at the office to welcome you, then, of course, the dinner and dance at the Roebuck Bay Hotel in the evening. Let us pray the storm has passed us by for now, or half the great and the good of Broome will arrive with red dirt soaking the bottom of their trousers and skirts," she chuckled. "I will see you tonight."
"Yes, Mother." Charlie nodded courteously as she left the room.
He waited until he'd seen Fred pull the car out of the drive before he went in search of Camira. He found her in the kitchen, plucking a duck and tutting. These days, Cat was the cook, well taught by his mother in the ways of British food.
"Where has she gone?" he asked, not caring if she did or didn't know about the baby.
A slight shrug came from Camira's shoulders. "Gone to help cousin."
"You believe that?"
"She my daughter. She nottum lie to me."
Charlie slumped into one of the wooden chairs that surrounded the kitchen table. He knew he was very close to tears. "She is my special friend. You know that. We grew up together and . . . why would she leave on the eve of my twenty-first birthday?"
Camira turned around and studied him, her glance unwavering. "Thinka you know why, Mister Charlie. So do I, but we not talk 'bout it. Maybe for best, yes?"
"No!" He slammed his fist on the table. "I . . ." He shook his head, knowing the golden rule of never divulging information, let alone feelings, to a servant, but all bets were off. "I love her; she is everything to me. I asked her to marry me last night! I wanted to tell the world tomorrow that she would become my wife! Why has she gone? I just don't understand!"
Then he did cry, and the pair of arms that came gently around him were not his mother's, but those of her surrogate, who came from another world.
"Oh God, Camira . . . you don't know how much I love her, how much I need her. Why has she gone?"
"She thinkum she do best for you, Mister Charlie. She don't wanta hold you back. You musta be part of whitefella world."
"We've talked about it since we were children! I told her last night we would be married and live together for the rest of our lives!" Charlie slammed the table again. "All the letters I wrote her over the last ten years, telling her how much I miss her, how much I love her . . . I could not have given her any more. Believe me"—Charlie shook his head in devastation—"I would give up all I have willingly. It means nothing to me, I have no interest in becoming rich, only living with her, lovingly, eagerly in the sight of God."
Camira's face softened. "You whitefellas the bossmen. Maybe she wanta be her own bosswoman. Nottum live in your world."
"Camira, where is she? Where has she gone? For God's sake, tell me!"
"I notta know, swear, Mister Charlie. She tellum me she leave, an' I understand. I see an' I understand. You get me?"
She eyed him, and Charlie nodded. "She would have been safe with me. I could have protected her."
"She fulla fear. She takem time to think."
"For how long? If she returns in a couple of months, the evidence will be obvious! It's now or never. Tell me where she has gone! You must, you have to!"
Camira walked to the back door of the kitchen. She opened it and then stood outside for a while, her head tipped upward as if she was asking for guidance. When she reentered the kitchen, she shook her head. "Mister Charlie, even ancestors not tellum me where my daughter go. Believe me."
"Did she give you a message? For me, I mean?"
"Yessum, she ask me to give-a you somethin' tomorrow."
"If it will give some clue as to where she is, you must fetch it for me now!"
"I do-a like Cat say. Tomorrow."
Charlie knew better than to argue. "Then I will come to your hut at midnight."
Camira nodded. "Now, I mustum cook duck."
Charlie walked toward the hut just before midnight and put out a hand to tap on it gently, but before his skin touched wood, Camira opened the door.
"Here." She passed Charlie a brown paper package tied with a ribbon he'd once seen in Cat's hair. "Happy birthday. Congratulation! You-a man now, no longer littun boy." Camira smiled at him tenderly. "I helpum you grow."
"You did, Camira, and I am grateful for it." He stared down at the package in his hands, then up at her once more. "You are not worried about your daughter?"
"I trust, Mister Charlie, she too grown now. What choice I have? Please." She placed her hand on his, and her palm was warm. "Dis your day. You-a earn it. Please, enjoy. Me an' Cat wanta you to."
"I will try, but you have to know—"
Camira put her finger to her lips. "Dun be sayin' those words. I know 'em already." Camira stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead. "You my boy too. I your bibi. I proud o' you. Galiya."
She closed the door, and Charlie walked back to the house. Sitting on his bed, he tore off the brown paper, all his hopes pinned on what he would find inside. A clue, a trail he could follow, anything to lead him to her.
Having unwrapped the many layers that held the present within, he sat with a small painting framed in driftwood that had been carved with delicate lines to shape roses. Holding it to the light, he saw that she had painted the two of them sitting together in the rose shed, his lighter head bent toward her dark one. Their hands were entwined in such a way that he could barely distinguish their individual fingers.
He closed his eyes, the painting still in his hand. And as the night wore on until morning—twenty-one years since he'd uttered his first cry—he slept.
Charlie would always look back and try to remember the day of his twenty-first birthday, but it passed in a blur of faces, presents, and champagne, which he accepted far too freely to drown his agony. He went through the motions, acting as if he was a fully formed human being, even though every part of him cried out for Cat.
There was dancing after dinner at the Roebuck Bay Hotel and Elise Forsythe partnered him often, showing her perfect dimples as she giggled at everything he said, even if it wasn't remotely funny. She told him she was an "Hon," which was English-speak for being of aristocratic breeding, and he could see she wore it well. Charlie accepted she looked lovely in her midnight-blue evening gown, with her blond hair and pale complexion like creamy milk. When it was time to blow out the candles on his extravagant three-tiered birthday cake, the crowd burst into applause, and Kitty glowed with pride. Charlie listened to her generous speech, his eyes downcast in embarrassment and despair. Three cheers went up for him and everyone raised their glasses in a toast.
Alone in his bedroom later, after thanking his mother profusely for such a wonderful party and for the watch by an expensive Swiss jeweler, Charlie thought he'd never been so grateful to get to the end of a day. He was due in the office at nine the next morning, as he would be every day for the rest of his life.
"How can I bear this without you?" he murmured, and fell asleep with Cat's ribbon clasped in his hand.
"I have made a decision, Charlie," Kitty announced at breakfast the following morning. "In a month's time, I will be taking a trip to Europe."
"For work?"
"No, that is your job now. I wish to see my family back in Edinburgh. It is five years since I last traveled there, and even then it was only a brief visit. I shall stay with them for a few months—I have nephews and nieces I haven't even met. I also feel it is important that I leave you to find your own feet here, make a clean break, so that everyone knows you are in charge."
"Mother"—a surge of panic ran through Charlie—"do you think that's wise? I barely know what I'm doing. I need you here with me."
"We will have a month together, which is plenty of time for you to learn. Don't you see, my dear boy? If I stay, all the employees will continue to come to me rather than you and they have to understand that you are the boss. There are changes you might wish to make—ones that may not be popular with our employees. I do not wish to be the listening ear for a stream of disgruntled staff who believe I have some sway over you. No, it is far better that I go. And besides," Kitty said, letting out a sigh, "I am not getting any younger and I am tired. I need a holiday."
"You are not sick, Mother?"
"No. It seems God gave me the constitution of an ox, but I wish to keep it that way."
"You will come back?"
"Of course—the freezing Scottish winter will provide the spur." Kitty shivered at the thought. "I will sail back to Adelaide before Christmas and celebrate the festive season at Alicia Hall. I hope you can join me and we can pay a visit to the opal mine and the vineyard to make sure the mice aren't playing while the cat's away."
The Cat's away . . .
"Even though I understand you wish to take a break, I'm very concerned I don't have the wherewithal to run the business alone."
"And I am perfectly sure you do. When your father left, I had no choice but to plunge in headfirst. I was completely alone with no one to ask for advice, except dear Mr. Donovan, who will be there for you too. He knows everything there is to know, although he will reach his sixtieth birthday this year and I am aware he eventually wishes to retire. He already has someone in mind to take over from him—a bright young Japanese man who can speak fluent English. With the number of Japanese we employ, he will be able to communicate with our crews better and will be an enormous asset." Kitty rose from the table. "Right, let's get to work, shall we?"
Over the next month, even though Charlie lay in bed every night promising himself that tomorrow he'd tell his mother the reason why Cat had left and that he was going in search of her, the business be damned, he never managed to utter a word. He knew his mother had spent the past seventeen years of her life running herself ragged to grow his inheritance, and all she wanted now was to take a well-earned break. How could he deny her that?
His admiration of her grew apace as he noted her voice of authority and the way she handled her staff and any problems with the lightest of touches. He also saw how the worry lines on her face had smoothed and how relaxed she seemed compared to the past.
How could he walk out on her after all she had done for him? Yet how could he not go and search for Cat and bring her back? Torn between loyalty for the two women he loved, Charlie felt often that his head and heart might explode. On Sundays—his one day off if there wasn't a lugger coming in—he drove to Riddell Beach and swam hard to calm his tortured mind. He floated there, the waves lapping in his ears, trying to find the peace and resolution he needed. It didn't come, and as the day approached when his mother would leave for Europe, his panic increased. He wondered if he should simply plunge his head under the waves for good to find blissful release.
Besides everything else, he didn't feel he was cut out for the job. He had none of his mother's air of natural authority, or the ease with which she talked to the other pearling masters at their regular dinners. Being half the age of most of them, Charlie knew they were almost certainly laughing at him behind his back and probably already planning their bids as they watched him and the company fail. His only other thought was to sell the company to one of the local pearling masters, but he knew that his mother would see it as a betrayal of his father and grandfather. The Mercer Pearling Company was one of the oldest in town, run by a family member since it began.
In short, Charlie had never been as miserable, desolate, and lonely in his life.
Kitty had invited Elise around for Sunday lunch on a couple of occasions. There was no doubt that she was an efficient secretary and possibly more capable than he, as she covered up his mistakes where she could. She was bright, witty, and pretty, and it was obvious his mother thought Elise the perfect future wife. There were constant mutterings about marriage and an heir to the empire.
"You'd better snap her up before someone else does. Women like her don't come along often in this town," she had said pointedly.
But there is already an heir out there, growing by the day in its mother's stomach. God only knows how she is surviving . . .
"Wait for me, Cat," he'd whisper to her ancestors. "I will find you . . ."
"So, this is good-bye, at least for now." Kitty smiled at her son as they stood in the luxurious suite aboard the ship that would take her down to Fremantle and then on the long voyage across the seas to her homeland.
Charlie thought how carefree she looked today—almost like a young girl, her eyes full of excitement.
"I will do my best not to let you down."
"I know you will." Kitty reached out her hand to touch her son's face. "Take care of yourself, darling boy."
"I will."
The ship's bell rang out to tell all those not traveling to disembark.
"Write to me, won't you? Let me know how you're getting on?" Kitty asked him.
"Of course. Safe travels, Mother." Charlie gave her a last hug before leaving the suite to make his way down the gangplank. He waved until the ship was just a speck on the ocean. Then he took the little train back down the pier, where Fred was waiting in the car to return him home.
That evening, Charlie dined alone. The silence in the house was eerie and after he'd finished eating, he went to see Camira in the kitchen. In the past month, with Kitty in residence, it had been hard to pin her down alone, but she couldn't avoid him now.
"Dinna okay, Mister Charlie?"
"Yes," he replied. "Have you heard from her?"
"No."
"She has not contacted you at all? Please, I beg you, tell me the truth."
"Mister Charlie, you nottum understand. Out there"—Camira waved her arm around vaguely—"no paper and stamp."
"Maybe others have seen her? I know how the bush telegraph works and messages are delivered by word of mouth."
"No, I hear-a nothin', honest, Mister Charlie."
"I am amazed you are not beside yourself with worry."
"Yessum, I worry, but I think she okay. I feel her, and ancestors look after her."
"Has she gone to live with your people, you think?"
"Maybe."
"Will she be coming back?"
"Maybe."
"Christ!" Charlie had the urge to shake her. "Do you not see that I am going mad with worry?"
"Yessum, I see-a gray hair on you this morning."
"If she doesn't come back in the next few weeks, I will go and find her myself." Charlie paced the kitchen.
"She nottum want be found." Camira continued calmly with the washing-up.
"We both know why she left, so at least it is my responsibility to try, whether she wishes it or not. After all, she is carrying my—"
Charlie restrained himself, knowing the actual words must remain unspoken between them. Yet again, he found himself close to tears.
"Mister Charlie, you good man, I know you lovem my daughter. And she love you. She think what she do is for best. She wanta you have happy life. Too difficult for you with her. Accept things you cannot change."
"I cannot, Camira, I cannot." Charlie sank down into a chair, put his arms on the table, and rested his head upon them. To his shame, he began to sob again. "I can't live without her, I simply can't."
"Mister Charlie." Camira left the washing-up, dried her hands, and came to put her arms around his heaving shoulders. "I see-a you two for many year. I thinkum maybe it disappear, but it not."
"Exactly, so I can't just give up on her, Camira, leave her out there . . . you know what can happen to half-caste children if the mother is unwed . . . I could at least have offered her some protection! And I tried, but she refused." He took the amber ring out of his pocket and brandished it at her. "My son or daughter may end up in one of those dreadful orphanages and while I have breath inside me I cannot sit here and do nothing!" He threw the ring onto the table, where it rolled and then came to rest in front of Camira.
"I understand," she said. There was silence in the room as she thought. "Mister Charlie, I makem you deal. If I nottum hear from her in next few weeks, I go walkabout an' find her."
"And I will come with you."
"No. You whitefella, you nottum survive out there. You big bossman here. Your mother, she trust you. You nottum let her down. She work hard to make big business to give you. Here, keepum this."
She picked up the ring and held it out to him, but he pushed her hand away.
"No, you take it. Find her, and bring her back, then I will put it on her finger. Until then, I can't bear to look at it."
Camira tucked the ring into her apron. "Okay, we makem deal? You work hard now at office for Missus Kitty and I go-a find my daughter if she not come home soon. Too many people in this family gettum lost. Sleep now, Mister Charlie, or more gray hairs comin'."
Left with no choice, Charlie did his best to adhere to Camira's advice. With the assurance that she would go to find Cat when the time was right, for the next four months he threw himself into the business as his mother would have wanted him to. Ledgers, legal papers, and the endless arrival of luggers into dock at least took Cat from his mind. The business—like all in Broome—was struggling. Their vast stockpiles of shell had plummeted in price, as Europe and America were demanding cheaper materials. Charlie looked carefully into the business of the cultured pearl farms run by Mr. Mikimoto. With real pearls becoming a scarce commodity in Broome due to excessive trawling off the coast, he could see that the cultured pearls were good replicas—and, in fact, far more suited to jewelry, as each was of a more standard size and therefore could easily be strung into a necklace or bracelet. Despite his mother's disparaging comments, Mikimoto thought cultured pearls were the future, and so did the great continent of America, which was buying his product by the sackload.
Charlie was also impressed that pearl farming did not put human lives at risk in the way diving did, and was moved to invite one of Mikimoto's managers over to show him how it could be done in Broome. He knew too that, after the initial setup costs, the profits would rise. It would ultimately destroy the industry that had made the town so prosperous, but just as in nature, everything had its season and Charlie felt instinctively that Broome was moving into a dark autumn.
"Everyone has to pay the piper," he muttered as he donned his master pearler's pith helmet, straightened his gold braid, and left to find Fred waiting in the car for him outside.
At least, he thought as the car drove off, he was taking his own first step into the future, however controversial.
Charlie was fast asleep when he heard a sudden keening sound fill the still air around him. He sat upright, pulling himself into consciousness.
The noise continued—a terrible high wailing, reminiscent of a sound he'd heard before. Still drowsy, he forced his mind to comprehend it . . .
"No . . . no . . . !"
He sprang from his bed, bolted out of the room, and ran through the house, following the sound through the kitchen and out of the back door.
He found Camira kneeling on the ground, kneading the red dust with her fingertips. She was babbling words he could not understand, but did not need to, because he knew already.
She looked up at him, her eyes full of undisguised agony.
"Mister Charlie, she is gone! I leavem it too late. I leavem it too late!"
A pall of misery hung over the house as its two occupants grieved day and night. They hardly spoke, the bond that had once tied them now disintegrating into bitterness, anger, and guilt. Charlie spent as little time at home as possible, sequestering himself in the office just as his mother had done after his father had left them. He now understood why—a broken heart ravaged and destroyed the soul, especially when it had guilt attached to it.
Elise, his secretary, seemed to sense that something was amiss, and despite himself, with her sunny smile and her calming presence, Charlie found her to be a light in the dark sea of gloom. At the same time, he resented her naïveté, her privilege, and the very fact that she was alive, when Alkina—and their child—was not.
What tortured him most was the fact he would never know how she died, perhaps out there alone in agony, giving birth to their baby.
At twenty-one years old, and one of the richest men in Australia, Charlie Mercer could have been taken for double his age.
## THE NEVER NEVER
Near Alice Springs
June 1929
## 26
The night was still, the only sound the cry of a distant dingo. The bright white stars and the moon in the cloudless sky above him were his only light source as the horse sauntered over the rocky desert terrain, navigating the low shrubs and bushes which grew close to the ground to protect themselves from the frequent sandstorms. The drover's eyes had adjusted to the dim light and could pick out the shadows of the rugged earth around him and the dark blue veins in the cliffs. The night air carried the cool, fragrant scents of the earth recovering from the heat of the day, and the air was thick with the sounds of skittering animals and buzzing insects.
He tethered his horse to a rocky outcrop sticking up from the earth like a red stalagmite. He'd been hoping to make it to the Alice by nightfall, but there'd been a skirmish between the local Aboriginal tribe and the drovers earlier, so he'd bided his time until it was over. Pulling off one of his camel-skin water bottles, he took a bowl from his saddlebag, filled it, and put it on the ground for the exhausted mare to drink from. Swigging back the last remains of the grog from his flask and rooting in the bag for what was left of his tucker, he laid out the rough blanket and sat down to eat. He'd be in Alice Springs by sunset tomorrow. After restocking his supplies, he'd go east and work the cattle until December. And after that . . .
He sighed. What was the point in planning a future that didn't exist? Even though he did his best to live from day to day, his mind still insisted he look toward something. In reality, it was a void of his own making.
The drover settled down to sleep, hearing the hiss of a snake nearby and throwing a rock to scare it away. Even by his standards he was filthy; he could smell his own acrid sweat. The usual waterholes he normally used had been empty, the season unusually dry even for the Never Never.
He thought of her, as he did every night, then closed his eyes on the moon to sleep.
He was awoken by a strange shrieking from some distance away. After years in the outback, he knew it was human, not animal. He struggled to place the familiar sound, then realized it was a baby's cry. Another soul born into this rotten world, he thought before he closed his eyes and slept again.
He was up at dawn, eager to reach the Alice by nightfall, take a room in town, and have his first decent wash since he'd left Darwin. Mounting his mare, he set off and saw the camel train on the skyline. Lit by the rising sun behind it, it appeared almost biblical. He caught up to them in under an hour, where they had stopped to rest and eat. He knew one of the Afghan cameleers, who slapped him on the back and offered him a seat on his carpet and a plate of flatbreads. He ignored the mold on one corner and chewed the bread hungrily. Out of all the human life he encountered on his usual route through the Never Never, it was the cameleers he most enjoyed spending time with. The secret pioneers of the outback, the cameleers were the unsung heroes, taking much-needed supplies across the red plains to the cattle stations sprinkled sparingly across the interior. Often they were educated men, speaking good English, but as he drank their water thirstily, he heard how their trade was in danger from the new railway line that would soon open between Port Augusta and Alice Springs. The plan was to continue it as far north as Darwin.
"We are some of the last left. All the others have gone back home across the sea," said Moustafa listlessly.
"I'm sure there will still be a place for you, Moustafa. The train line cannot reach the outlying villages."
"No, but the motorcar can."
The drover was just bidding them farewell when the strange shriek he'd heard last night started up again, coming from a basket tied to one side of a camel.
"Is that a baby?" he asked.
"Yes. It was brought into the world five days ago. The mother died last night. We buried her well and good so the dingoes wouldn't get her," Moustafa added.
"A black baby?"
"From the color of the skin, a half caste, or maybe a quadroon. The girl hitched a ride with us two weeks ago. She said she was heading for the Hermannsburg mission," Moustafa recounted. "The others did not want to take her given her condition, but she was desperate, and I said yes. Now we have a motherless babe screaming day and night for its milk with none to give. Maybe it will die before we reach the Alice. It was small to begin with."
"Can I see it?"
"If you wish."
Moustafa stood up and led him over toward the screeching. He unhooked the basket and handed it to his friend.
Inside, all the drover could see were moving folds of material. Setting the basket onto the ground, he knelt next to it and removed the muslin cloths that covered the baby. The smell of feces and urine hit him as he uncovered the rest of the tiny, skinny body, with its layer of smooth, butterscotch skin.
The baby kicked and squalled, its tiny fists punching the air fiercely. Even though he'd seen many things in his time in the outback, this half-starved motherless child produced an emotion inside him he had not experienced for many years. He felt the sting of a tear in his eye. Wrapping the sheets of muslin around the baby so he did not touch its excretions for fear of disease, he lifted it out of the basket. As he did so, he heard something drop back inside.
"It's a boy," Moustafa commented as he stood well away because of the stench. "What life can he hope for even if he does survive?"
At the drover's touch, the baby had ceased its caterwauling. It put a fist into its mouth, opened its eyes, and gazed up at him quizzically. Drummond started at the sight of them. They were blue, the irises flecked with amber, but it wasn't the unusual color that held his attention, rather the shape and the expression in them. He'd seen those eyes before, but he couldn't think where.
"Did the mother name the baby before she died?" he asked Moustafa.
"No, she did not say much at all."
"Do you know where the father might be?"
"She never said, and perhaps she didn't wish to tell. You know how it is." Moustafa gave an elegant shrug.
The drover looked down at the baby, still sucking his fist, and something in him stirred again.
"I could take him with me to the Alice, and then on to Hermannsburg."
"You could, but I think he is done for, my friend, and maybe it's for the best."
"Or maybe I am his chance." The drover's words were driven purely by instinct. "I'll take him. If I leave him with you, he'll certainly die like his mother."
"True, true," Moustafa answered solemnly, relief flooding his honest features.
"Have you a little water to spare at least?"
"I will go and find some," Moustafa agreed.
The baby had now closed its eyes, too exhausted to recommence its wailing. Its breathing was ragged, and as he held it to him, the drover knew that time was running out.
"Here." Moustafa proffered a flask. "You are doing a good thing, my friend, and I bless you and the infant. Kha safer walare." He laid a gnarled hand on the baby's sweaty forehead.
After carrying the basket back to his horse, the drover fashioned a sling out of the blanket he lay on at night and tied it around himself before lifting the baby into it. As he did so, he saw a dirty tin box lying beneath the muslin and tucked it into his saddlebag. Taking a little water from the flask, he dribbled it onto the baby's lips and was relieved to see it sucking weakly at the fluid. Then he fastened the empty basket to the back of his saddle, mounted the horse, and set off at a gallop across the plain.
As he rode, the sun searing his skin, he wondered what on earth had possessed him to do such a thing. He'd probably arrive in the Alice and find a dead baby strapped to him. Yet, whatever it was, something drove him forward through the white-hot heat of the afternoon, knowing that if it stayed another night out in the desert, the tiny heart that lay against his would cease to beat.
At six o'clock that night, his valiant mare staggered into the dusty yard outside his usual lodgings. Still astride, the drover tentatively placed a hand on the baby's chest and felt a reassuring if weak flutter beneath it. After dismounting and filling a bucket with water from the pump for the thirsty horse, he unstrapped the sling and placed the baby back in its basket, covering it loosely with the muslin.
"I'll be back out to give you some decent tucker later," he promised the mare before he stepped inside to be greeted with delight by Mrs. Randall, the landlady.
"Good to see ya back around these parts. The usual room?"
"If it's available, yes. How's it going with you?"
"Ya know how it is here, though it'll be a lot better once the train is up and running. Anything I can get you, Mr. D? The usual?" She winked. "There's a couple o' new girls in town."
"Not tonight, it's been a long journey here. I was wondering, do you by any chance have some milk?"
"Milk?" Mrs. Randall looked surprised at his request. "Course we do. How many heads of cattle are there around these parts?" she chuckled. "Not your usual tipple, Mr. D."
"You're right, maybe add a beaker of some good Scotch whiskey to that order as well."
"I might have a bottle specially for you. Anything to eat?"
"Whatever's on the boil, Mrs. R." He gave her a grin. "I'm dehydrated, so I'd like a saltcellar on the side."
"Righto." She handed him a key. "I'll bring it all up to your room in a jiffy."
"Cheers, Mrs. R."
The drover picked up the basket and saddlebag and tramped up the rough wooden stairs. Entering the room, he closed the door and locked it firmly behind him. Placing the basket on the bed, he removed the muslin shroud from the baby's face. Now, even though he placed his ear next to the tiny nose, he could hardly hear it breathe.
Grabbing the flask Moustafa had given him, he sprinkled the last drops of water onto the baby's lips, but it did not respond.
"Strewth! Don't die on me now, baby! I'll be done for murder," he entreated the tiny being. Placing the basket at the side of the bed, he paced the room, waiting for Mrs. Randall to arrive. Eventually, out of frustration, and also because of the pungent smell inside the room, he ran back downstairs.
"Nearly ready?" he asked her.
"I was just going to bring it up ta you," the woman said, placing the tray on the narrow reception desk.
He looked at its contents and realized the one thing he needed was missing. "You got that saltcellar for me, Mrs. R?"
"Sorry, I'll go and get it." She returned with it in her sun-freckled hand. "It's silver plated, got it as one of my wedding presents when I married Mr. R. Make sure ya return it to me, or there'll be hell to pay."
"You can count on me," he said, the contents of the tray wobbling as he picked it up. "I'll be down later to take a wash."
Reentering his room, he took his shirt off, then unscrewed the silver top of the saltcellar and poured the contents into the fabric. Then he took the glass of milk and made a funnel with a page torn out of the Bible on the nightstand, and poured the milk into the empty saltcellar. Gathering up the baby, and breathing through his mouth to avoid the stink that came from it, he gently poked the tip of the saltcellar between the rosebud lips.
At first, there was no response, and his own heart beat rapidly enough for both of them. He removed the tiny silver teat, then dribbled a little milk from the holes in the top of the cellar onto his finger. Working on instinct alone, he smeared it around the baby's lips. After an agonizing few seconds, the lips moved. He then placed the tip of the saltcellar into the baby's mouth again and sent up a prayer for the first time in seventeen years. A few seconds later, he felt a tiny exploratory tug on the makeshift bottle. There was an agonizing pause and then a firmer tug as the baby began to suck.
The drover lifted his eyes to the ceiling above him. "Thank you."
When the child had taken its fill, he poured water from the jug into the basin, stripped off the stinking muslin cloths, and did his best to wash the encrusted muck from its body. Forming a makeshift napkin with two of his handkerchiefs, and praying there wouldn't be another explosion, he wrapped the tiny backside as best he could. He hid the soiled muslin cloths in one of the bedsheets, and stuffed the stinking parcel into a drawer. He wrapped the other sheet around the baby, noticing the engorged stomach and emaciated legs that looked as if they belonged to a frog rather than a human being. The baby had fallen asleep, so he downed the now cold and congealing beef stew in a few gulps and washed it down with some hefty slugs of whiskey. Then he left the room to feed his horse and scrub himself clean in the water barrel in the backyard.
Feeling refreshed, the drover ran back upstairs and saw the baby had not moved. Putting his ear to the tiny chest, he heard the flutter of a heartbeat and the sound of steady breathing. Climbing onto his own mattress, he remembered the tin he'd stored in his saddlebag.
The tin was encrusted in rust and red dirt as if it had long been buried. He prised it open to find a small leather box inside. Unfastening the clasp and lifting the lid, his breathing became ragged as his own heart missed a beat.
The Roseate Pearl . . . the pearl that had ended his brother's life, yet saved his own.
"How can it be . . . ?" he murmured, his eyes drawn to its mesmeric beauty, as they'd been so many years before. What he could do with that cash . . . He knew its value—he had handed over the twenty thousand pounds himself.
Banished from Broome and unable to return to Kilgarra, his beloved cattle station, he traveled across the Never Never, picking up work where he found it. He kept himself to himself, trusting no one. He was a different person now, a human void with a heart that had turned to ice. And he had only himself—and perhaps the pearl—to blame. Yet, from the moment he'd seen this baby, something had thawed within him.
He snapped the box shut and placed it back in the tin before it hypnotized him again.
How was this child connected to the Roseate Pearl? Last time he had seen it, he had locked it away in Kitty's writing desk. Camira had pleaded with him not to present it to her mistress and . . .
"God's oath!"
He knew now where he'd seen the baby's eyes before. "Alkina . . ."
He stood up and went to study the sleeping infant once more. And for the first time in many years, acknowledged the existence of fate and destiny. He'd instinctively known that this baby with the cursed pearl secreted in its basket was connected to him.
"Good night, little one. Tomorrow I will take you to Hermannsburg." He stroked the soft cheek, then went to lie back on his mattress. "And then I will journey to Broome to find out who you are to me."
Pastor Albrecht looked up from his Bible at the sound of hooves clopping into the mission. Through the window, he watched the man draw to a halt, then climb off his horse and look around him, uncertain of where to go. Pastor Albrecht stood up and walked toward the door and out into the glaring sun.
"Guten Tag, or should I say good morning?"
"I speak both languages," the man answered. Around the courtyard, a number of the pastor's flock, clad in white, paused to look at the handsome man. Any stranger who came here was a welcome sight.
"Back to your business," he directed them, and they returned to their work.
"Is there somewhere we might talk, Pastor?"
"Come into my study." The pastor indicated the room behind him as he heard a mewling cry emanate from the sling around the man's chest. "Please, sit down," he said, closing the door behind him, then snapping the shutters closed against prying eyes.
"I will, once I have given you this."
The man untied the sling from around him and laid its contents on the table. There, among the stinking cloths, was a tiny newborn baby boy, his lungs singing to the heavens for nourishment.
"What have we here?"
"His mother died some hours outside Alice Springs. The cameleers told me she was on her way to Hermannsburg. I offered to bring the baby here faster. I commandeered a saltcellar in my lodging house last night and it has taken some milk from that."
"How very inventive of you, sir."
"Perhaps the salt traces left inside helped too, because he seems stronger today."
"He is very small." Pastor Albrecht examined the baby, testing his limbs and his grip. "And weak from malnourishment."
"He has survived at least."
"And I commend you and bless you, sir. There are not many drovers about these parts who would do the same. I presume the mother was Aboriginal?"
"I could not say, as she had died and been buried before I arrived. Although by chance, I might know who her family is."
The pastor looked at the man suspiciously. "Are you this baby's father, sir?"
"No, not at all, but with the baby was something I recognized." He pulled the tin out of his pocket. "I will be traveling to Broome to confirm my suspicions."
"I see." Pastor Albrecht picked up the tin and cradled it in his hands. "Then you must let me know of your findings, but for now, if he lives, the child will have a home here at Hermannsburg."
"Please retain that tin for safekeeping until I return. And for your own sake, do not look inside."
"What do you take me for, sir?" The pastor frowned. "I am a man of God. And trustworthy."
"Of course."
The pastor watched the man dig in his pocket and produce some notes. "Here is a donation toward your mission and the feeding of the child."
"Thank you."
"I'll return as soon as I can."
"One last question, sir: Did the mother name him?"
"No."
"Then I shall call him Francis, for Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals. From what you have told me, it was a camel who helped save his life." The pastor gave him a wry smile.
"An apt name."
"And your name, sir?" Pastor Albrecht asked.
"They know me as Mr. D around these parts. Good-bye, Pastor."
The door slammed shut behind him. Pastor Albrecht went to the window and opened the shutters to watch the drover mount his horse and leave. Even though the man was obviously in full health and strength, there was something oddly vulnerable about him.
"Another lost soul," he murmured as he regarded the baby on the table in front of him. The baby stared back, blinking his large blue eyes slowly. "You have survived a long journey, little one," he said as he picked up his ink pen, opened a ledger, and scrawled the name Francis and the date of his arrival on a fresh page. As an afterthought, he added, Mr. D—drover, Alice Springs.
A month later, the drover tethered the horse on a patch of land half a mile or so from the house, and walked the rest of the way. It was a dark night, the stars hidden by swaths of clouds, and he was glad of it. Arriving at the front gate, he took off his boots and tucked them into the hedge. The house was in complete darkness, and only an occasional rustle came from the stables. He sighed, thinking that the best and worst times of his life had been spent under this roof—once tin, but now immaculately tiled. Seeing Fred asleep in his usual spot outside the stables, he walked across to the hut. Praying that she hadn't locked it, he tried the handle and it opened easily. Closing the door behind him, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. She was there, one hand flung back behind her head. He walked closer to her, knowing that to startle her would alert the occupants of the neighboring house.
He knelt down at the side of the bed and lit the candle on the nightstand so that she would recognize him immediately.
He shook her gently and she stirred.
"Camira, it is I, Mister Drum. I have come back to see you. I really am here, but you mustn't make a sound." He put a hand over her mouth, as she stared at him, fully awake now. "Please don't scream."
The terror in her eyes began to abate and she struggled to remove his hand from her mouth.
"Promise?"
She nodded and he removed it, putting a finger to his lips instead. "We don't want to wake up anyone else, do we?"
She shook her head mutely, then wriggled to sit upright.
"What you doing here, Mister Drum? You-a dead for years!" she hissed.
"We both know that I was not, don't we?"
"So, why you-a come back now?"
"Because I have something to tell you."
"That my daughter is dead?" Camira's eyes filled with tears. "I know already. My soul tellum me."
"Sadly your soul tells you right. I'm so very sorry, Camira. Was she . . . with child?"
"Yessum." Camira hung her head. "You tellum no one. Baby now dead too."
He now knew for certain that what he had surmised was true.
"Well now, there is something you don't know," he whispered.
"What is dat?"
He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Cat's baby survived. You have a grandson."
Then he told her the story of how he'd found the child and Camira's eyes filled with wonder and astonishment.
"Them ancestors, they make-a clever plan. Where is he?" Camira peered around the room as if the baby were there somewhere, hidden.
"He was far too weak to make the journey here. I left him in good hands at Hermannsburg mission. And I must also tell you that the bad pearl was in his basket. Alkina must have found it and—"
"No! Bad pearl is cursed. Don't wantum near my grandson!" Camira raised her voice and Drummond put a warning finger to his lips.
"I swear that it is being kept in a safe place away from him until you decide what to do with it and the baby. I thought perhaps you might want to bring him here once he has recovered."
"He nottum come here," Camira said vehemently.
"Why not? I thought at the very least, he would be a comfort to you."
It was Camira's turn to tell him what had happened.
"So that baby is my nephew's son? And therefore related to me by blood?" Drummond said in astonishment.
"Yessum. Our blood mix inside, so he belonga both of us," she said solemnly.
"But most of all, Camira, to my nephew, Charlie, now that his mother is with the ancestors."
"No! Best for all Mister Charlie thinkum baby dead too."
"Why on earth would you of all people say that?"
"You not bin around here for long time, Mister Drum. You not understand. Missus Kitty, she workum so hard, do everything for her son after you gone."
Drummond raised an eyebrow.
"She get sick, very sick," Camira continued. "An' sad."
"Is she well now? Is she here?" He turned his head toward the house.
"She in Europe for holiday. She leavem Mister Charlie in charge. Even though he sad too 'bout my daughter, he young and gettum better soon. Maybe marry nice secretary woman. Best for him he nottum know, you see?"
"And what about Kitty? She is a grandmother like you, Camira. Surely both she and Charlie have a right to know of the baby's existence? And what of the baby himself? I for one could not just abandon my great-nephew to a mission."
Camira scrambled out of bed. "I come-a with you. You take-a me to mission. Then I care for my grandson there."
"You would leave everything you have here? What about Kitty? I know how much she depends on you."
Camira was already pulling out a hessian sack, obviously once used for vegetables by the smell of old cabbage. "I sortum my family, she sortum hers. It for best."
"I think you underestimate your mistress. After all, she brought you into her household against my brother's wishes. She has a loving heart and she would wish to be included in this decision. And I'm certain she would welcome her grandson into her home."
"Yessum, but now she take rest and needum peace. Don't wanta bring shame on her or Charlie, see? Best I go to grandson. Keep secret."
Drummond realized then that Camira would do everything she could to protect the mistress who'd saved her and the boy she'd brought into the world. Even if it meant deserting them to do it. However, it was her decision to make, whether he agreed with it or not.
"What about Fred? Surely you will tell him?"
"He no good at keepin' secrets, Mister Drum. Maybe one day." Camira looked at him expectantly, all her worldly goods now thrown into the hessian sack. "You takem me to grandson now, yes?"
Drummond nodded in resignation, and opened the door of the hut.
## CECE
Hermannsburg, Northern Territory
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol for star or sun
## 27
The sun sank lower in the sky as I looked at my grandfather. At Francis, once a baby boy who had been rescued from the desert by a man who had not even known they were related.
"How could it be?" I murmured, and brushed a fly away from my face, only to find my cheek damp with tears.
"I am living proof that kin finds kin, that miracles occur." He gave me a weak smile and I could see that the telling of the story had both exhausted and shaken him. "We can't ask what the reasons are for the extraordinary things that happen to us. They up there—the ancestors, or God—are the only ones that know the answers. And we won't have those until we too go upward."
"What happened to Kitty and Drummond?"
"Ah, Celaeno, that is quite a question. If only he'd had the patience and fortitude to wait, they could have eventually shared a happy life together after Andrew's death. But he was impetuous, lived for the moment. There is some of my great-uncle Drummond in me, I confess," he admitted with a smile.
"Me too," I said, wondering if I'd have done the same as Kitty and sent the man—or woman, as Chrissie jumped into my thoughts—that I loved away. "Did you ever meet him?"
"That is the next part of the story, but we shall have to save it for another time. I suddenly feel as old as I am. Are you hungry?"
"I could eat, yes," I said. My stomach was rumbling like a train on a track, but it wasn't like we could just pop around the corner for a burger here.
There was a pause as he gazed across at the creek in the distance. "Then why don't I take you back to my place? I have plenty of food, and it's not far."
"Er . . ." The sky was beginning to turn to delicate shades of pink and peach, the precursor of nightfall. "I was planning to go back to Alice Springs tonight."
"It is your choice, of course. But if you come with me, we could talk more. And if you want, I have a bed for you."
"Okay, I will," I replied, remembering this man was my grandfather. He'd trusted me enough to share the secrets of his—and my—family, and I had to trust him.
We stood up and walked back through Phil's bedroom and out into the courtyard, where we found Phil himself leaning against a wall.
"Ya ready to go, Celaeno?"
I explained the change of plan and he ambled over to shake my hand. "It's been a pleasure. Don't be a stranger, now, will ya?"
"She can take my place on the committee when I retire," my grandfather joked.
"The ute's not locked by the way," Phil called as we walked away from him.
I opened the rear door of the truck and went to pull out my rucksack, but my grandfather's strong brown hands were there before me. They lifted the rucksack out as if it weighed nothing.
"This way." He beckoned me to follow as he set off.
Maybe he's parked his car somewhere else, I thought. But as we walked away from the mission entrance, the only vehicle I could see was a pony and cart waiting on a patch of grass.
"Climb aboard," he said, throwing my rucksack up onto the rough wooden bench. "Can you ride?" he asked me as he clicked the reins.
"I took lessons as a kid, but my sister Star didn't like it, so we stopped."
"Did you like it?"
"I loved it."
He proceeded to ignore the road and steered the cart onto the rough earth, the pony taking us up a gentle slope.
"I can teach you to ride if you'd like. As you've heard, your great-great-uncle Drummond spent much of his life on horseback."
"And on camels," I added as the pony picked its way confidently over the bumpy ground. My grandfather was gazing at me, his hands loose around the reins.
"If your mother and grandmother could see us now. Together, here." He shook his head and reached out to touch the side of my face. I felt the roughness of his hand, like sandpaper, yet it was a gesture full of love.
A question floated to the front of my mind.
"Can I ask you what the Dreamtime is?" I began. "I mean, I've heard some Dreamtime stories, and about the Ancestors, but what actually is it?"
He gave a chuckle. "Ah, Celaeno, to us, the Dreamtime is everything. It is how the world was created—where everything originated."
"But how?"
"I will tell it the way my grandmother Camira told me when I was a young boy. In the Dreaming world, the earth was empty when it all began—a flat desert, in darkness. No sounds, no life, nothing. Then the Ancestors came and as they moved across the earth they cared for it and loved it. They created all that was—the ants, the kangaroos, the wallabies, the snakes—"
"The spiders?" I interrupted.
"Yes, even those, Celaeno. Everything is connected and important, no matter how ugly or frightening. The Ancestors also made the moon, and the sun, the humans and our tribes."
"Are the Ancestors still here?"
"Well, after doing all that creating, they retired. They went into the sky, the earth, the clouds, the rain . . . and into all the creatures they had formed. Then they gave us humans the task of protecting everything and nurturing it."
"Do all Aboriginal tribes have the Dreamtime?"
"Yes, although the individual stories vary here and there. I remember how annoyed Grandmother Camira would get when one of our Arrernte stories would disagree with one she'd been raised with. She was Yawuru, you see."
"So do you speak Yawuru too?" I asked, thinking of Chrissie.
"A little, but at Hermannsburg I learned to speak German, Arrernte, and English, and that was more than enough languages to fill one head."
Half an hour later, we arrived at what looked to me like a large garden shed that was placed on concrete stilts over the red earth. Behind it was a small stable that my grandfather steered the pony and cart toward. There was a veranda at the front, shielded from the burning sun by a tin roof. It was dotted with bits of furniture which looked like they belonged inside, reminding me of Chrissie's grandmother's house. I hauled my rucksack up the steps and turned to admire the view.
"Look at that," he said, placing a hand gently on my shoulder as the two of us stared at the landscape in front of us. The fast-sinking sun was seeping its last rays across an outcrop of rock, and beyond that snaked the line of a creek, glistening in the red sand. In the distance I could see the white huts of Hermannsburg, suffused with a deep orange glow behind them.
"To the northwest of us is Haasts Bluff, near Papunya," he said, gesturing behind us. "And to the northeast are the MacDonnell Ranges—Heavitree Gap was always my favorite place to paint."
"That's where the photograph of you and Namatjira was taken?"
"Yes. You've done your homework," he said approvingly.
"Phil did it for me. He recognized it."
"He would, we've been there together many times."
"The view's amazing," I replied as my fingers started to tingle. I wanted to paint it immediately.
"Let's go inside."
The hut smelled of turpentine and paint. The room we were in was small, with an old sofa placed in front of an open fireplace. I saw the rest of the space was taken up with a trestle table splodged with paint and littered with jars full of brushes. A number of canvases were propped against the walls.
"Let's go and see what we have for supper."
I followed him into an adjoining room that contained an old and noisy fridge, a gas stove, and a sink that didn't have any taps.
"I have some steak if you're interested. I can prepare it with a few vegetables on the side."
"Sounds great."
"The plates and cutlery are in that cupboard. There's a frying pan and a saucepan in there too."
I rooted through the cupboard and set the required items on the little wooden table in the center of the room. Meanwhile, he took some carrots, onions, and potatoes from the fridge and began to peel and chop them deftly. I sat down and watched him, my brain trying to fathom out the genetic pathways that linked us. I would have to draw myself a family tree at some point.
"Are you a cook, Celaeno?" he asked me as he worked.
"No," I admitted. "My sister Star did all that stuff."
"You live together?"
"We used to, up until a couple of months ago."
"What happened? You fell out?"
"No . . . it's a long story."
"Well," he said as he lit the flame on the gas ring and tossed the vegetables into a pan, together with some unfamiliar herbs, "after dinner, you can tell me all about your life."
We sat out on the veranda eating what tasted like the best steak ever, but maybe it was just because I was starving. I realized it was my first meal with a blood relative of mine, and I marveled at how people could do this every day without even thinking how special it was.
Once we'd finished eating, my grandfather showed me the barrel of rainwater at the back of the hut. I used a pitcher to take some to the sink and washed up the plates while he brewed some coffee on the gas ring. He lit an oil lamp on the veranda and we leaned back in the wooden chairs, sipping the coffee.
"Just in case you doubt me, I want to show you this."
It was another black-and-white photo, this time of two women standing on either side of a man. One of the women, although darker skinned than me, could have been my double. It was the eyes that clinched it—they had the same almond shape as mine.
"See the likeness?"
"Yeah, I do. Your eyes are the same shape too. She was your mother?"
"Yes, that was Alkina, or 'Cat' as everyone called her. As you've heard, I never got to meet her."
"And who is that?" I pointed to the handsome blond man who towered over the two women. He had an arm around both of them.
"That's Charlie Mercer. Your great-grandfather and my father."
"And the other woman?"
"Camira, my grandmother. Apart from my Sarah, she was the most wonderful, kind, and brave human being I have ever known . . ."
His eyes moved to the horizon and I saw they were filled with sadness.
"So she came to look after you at Hermannsburg?"
"Oh yes, she came. I grew up thinking she was my mother, and she could have been. She was only in her early forties when I was born, you see."
"Did Charlie Mercer ever know about you? Like, did you meet him?"
"Celaeno," he sighed, "let's leave the past for now. I want to hear about you. How has your life been?"
"That's a big question."
"Then let me help you. When I began to search for my daughter and eventually found you, I was told that you had been adopted by a rich man from Switzerland. You lived there in your childhood?"
"Yes, in Geneva."
"You have brothers and sisters?"
"Only sisters. And all six of us are adopted."
"What are your sisters' names? How old are they?"
"You're probably gonna find this weird, but we're all named after the Seven Sisters."
His eyes widened with interest and I thought that at least I could cut out explaining who we were and what the myth was. This man would have been taught about them from birth. They were his Ancestors too.
"You say there are six of you?"
"Uh-huh."
"Like in the legend," we both said together, then laughed.
"Merope is there, even though she hides sometimes. Perhaps one day she will be found."
"Well, it's too late now, for Pa at least. He died last June."
"I am sorry, Celaeno. He was a good man?"
"Yes, very, although sometimes I felt he loved my other sisters more than me. They're all so talented and beautiful."
"As are you. And remember, nothing happens by chance. It is all planned out for us before we even take our first breath."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I think I must, given the way I was found as a baby by my blood relative, who then brought my grandmother to care for me as I grew. I don't know of your religious beliefs, but surely no man or woman can deny that there must be something bigger than us? I put my trust in the universe, even though sometimes I feel as though it has let me down, as I did when I lost my own daughter. But that was her path to follow, and I must accept the pain."
I thought how wise and dignified this man was, and, with a pang, how much he reminded me of Pa Salt.
"Again, we have strayed away from the track of your life. Please, tell me about your sisters."
I did so, reeling off the potted biographies of each of them as I had done so many times before.
"I see. But it seems you have left one sister out."
I counted them up in my head. "No, I've told you a little about all of them."
"You still haven't told me about you."
"Oh, right, well." I cleared my throat. "There's not really much to tell. I live in London with Star, though I think she's probably moved out permanently while I've been gone. I was a dunce at school because I have dyslexia. It's—"
"I know what that is, because I have it too. And so did your mother."
The word "mother" sent a funny shiver through me. Even though from what he'd said so far I had to guess that she was dead, at least he'd be able to tell me about her. "It must be genetic then. The trouble was, Star—or Asterope—was the one I was always closest to because we were in the middle and only a few months apart in age. She's really clever, and the worst thing is that me being stupid academically held her back. She won a place at Cambridge, but didn't take it. She came to uni in Sussex with me instead. I know I put pressure on her to do it. I feel really guilty about that."
"Perhaps she didn't want to be without you either, Celaeno."
"Yeah, but sometimes in life you should try to be the bigger person, shouldn't you? I should have persuaded her to go, told her not to worry about me, if I'd really loved her, which I did. And still do," I gulped.
"Love is both the most selfish and unselfish emotion in the world, Celaeno, and its two facets cannot be separated. The need in oneself battles against the wish for the loved one to be happy. So unfortunately, love is not something to be rationalized and no human being escapes its grip, believe me. What did you study at university?"
"History of art. It was a disaster and I left after a couple of terms. I just couldn't hack the essays because of my dyslexia."
"I understand. But you were interested in the subject?"
"Oh God, yes, I mean, art is the only thing I'm any good at."
"You are an artist?"
"I wouldn't say that. I mean, I got a place at the Royal College in London, which was cool, but then . . ." Shame at my failure poured through me. This man had gone to so much trouble to find me and wanted to hear what a success I was making of my life, but on paper I'd achieved absolutely nothing in the past twenty-seven years. "It didn't work out either. I left after three months and came here. Sorry," I added as an afterthought.
"There's no need to apologize to me, or to yourself," my grandfather said, only out of kindness, I was sure. "I will let you into a secret: I won a place at art school in Melbourne. It was organized for me by a man called Rex Battarbee, who was the person responsible for teaching Namatjira. I lasted less than four days, then ran away and came back to my home in Hermannsburg."
"You did?"
"I did. And it was a nerve-racking moment, having to face my grandmother Camira when I eventually arrived home after a month's journey back here. She'd been so proud when I'd got the place. I thought she might beat me, but she was just happy to see me safe and well. The only punishment she gave me was to lock me in the shed with a barrel of water, until I'd scrubbed myself from head to foot with carbolic soap!"
"And you still went on to be a famous artist?"
"I went on to be an artist, yes, but I did it my own way, just as you are doing. Are you painting again now?"
"I've really been struggling, to be honest. I lost all my confidence after I left college in November."
"Of course you did, but it will come back, and it will happen in a moment when something—a landscape or an idea—strikes you. And that feeling in your gut will make your hand itch to paint it and—"
"I know that feeling!" I butted in excitedly. "That's exactly what happens to me!"
Out of everything my grandfather had said to me so far, this was the moment when I really, truly believed we must be blood. "And," I added, "that feeling happened to me a couple of days ago when I was driving back with my friend Chrissie from Hermannsburg and saw the sun setting behind the MacDonnell Ranges. The next day, I borrowed some watercolors, and I sat under a gum tree and I . . . painted! And she said, my friend Chrissie, I mean"—my words were tripping over each other now—"she said it was great, and then she took it to a gallery in Alice Springs without me knowing, and it's being framed, and they're going to put it up for sale for six hundred dollars!"
"Wonderful!" My grandfather slapped his knees. "If I were still a drinker, I would make a toast to you. I look forward very much to seeing the painting."
"Oh, I don't really think it's anything special and I only had an old tin of children's watercolors to work with . . ."
"But at least it was a start," he finished for me, his eyes shining with what looked like genuine happiness. "I'm sure it's far better than you think."
"I saw your Wheel of Fire in a book. It was amazing."
"Thank you. Interestingly, it is not my favorite, but then often the artist's preference for one particular work does not match the critical or public view."
"I painted a mural of the Seven Sisters out of dots when I was younger," I told him. "I didn't even know why I was doing it."
"The Ancestors were guiding you back to your country," Francis replied.
"I've always struggled to find my style . . ."
"As any painter of note does."
"This morning, when I saw the way that you and that Clifford Possum guy had mixed two styles together to create something new, I wondered about trying something like that too."
He didn't ask me what, just fixed his extraordinary eyes upon me. "Then you must try it. And soon. Don't let the moment of inspiration pass."
"I won't."
"And never ever compare yourself to other artists. Whether they are better, or worse, it only leads to despair . . ."
I waited, for I knew he had more to say.
"I fell into that trap when Cliff's paintings began to gain national recognition. He was a genius and I miss him to this day—we were great friends. But jealousy ate into me as I watched him rise to fame and receive the adulation that I knew I would never get. There is only one seminal artist from the first generation of a new school of painting. Once it was him, it could never be me."
"Did you lose confidence?" I asked.
"Worse than that. Not only did I stop painting, but I started drinking. I left my poor wife and went walkabout for over three months. I cannot tell you the jealousy I felt, or how my art seemed pointless at that moment. It took me all that time out there alone to understand that success and fame for any true artist is a mirage. The true joy is in the creative process itself. You will always be a slave to it, and, yes, it will dominate your life, control you like a lover. But unlike a lover, it will never leave you," he said solemnly. "It's inside you forever."
"When you accepted that, were you able to paint again?" I asked.
"I came home, drunk and broken, and my wife put me to bed and cared for me until I was physically better. The mental recovery had already begun while I was out bush, but it took a long time for me to gather the courage to sit in front of a canvas and hold a brush again. I will never forget how my hand shook as I first picked one up again. And then finally, the freedom of knowing that I was not painting for anyone except myself, that I would probably never achieve my original goal of world domination, gave me a sense of peace and freedom I cannot describe. Since then—over the past thirty years or so—my paintings have got better and, in fact, now command huge prices, simply because I only paint when my fingers itch. Well, there we are."
We sat in silence for a while, but it was comfortable. I was learning already that—like his painting—my grandfather would only speak when he had something to say. I also felt I'd had a massive info-dump over the past couple of days, and, a bit like a kid holding a box of sweets, I wanted to store it all in my mind-cupboard and unwrap the facts sweet by sweet. I was sure there were a lot of hungry days alone to come . . .
"Look!"
I jumped about six inches in the air at the sound of his voice, my immediate reaction one of panic in case he was pointing out a snake or a spider.
"Up there." He pointed and I followed his finger to the familiar milky cluster hanging low in the sky and as close to me as I'd ever seen it. "There you are." He walked toward me and draped his arm around my shoulder. "There's your mother, Pleione, and your father, Atlas. Look, even your little sister is showing herself to us tonight."
"Oh my God! She's there! I can see her!"
And I could. Merope was as vivid as the rest of us—out here, we seemed to shine so much brighter than anywhere else.
"She's coming to join you all soon, Celaeno. She has finally caught up with her sisters . . ."
His hand dropped heavily to his side. Then he turned to me, reached out his arms, and pulled me to him tightly. I tentatively wound my arms around his sinewy waist, then heard a strange guttural sound erupting and realized he was crying. Which then made me well up, especially as we were standing right under my sisters and Pa Salt in this incredible place. And I decided it was okay to join him in his tears.
Eventually, he drew away from me and cupped my face in his hands. "Can you believe it? You and me, two survivors of a powerful bloodline, standing together here, under the stars?"
"I can't take it in," I said, wiping my nose.
"No. I just did and look what happened." He smiled down at me. "Best not to do that again. Now, are you happy to stay here with me tonight? There's a nice bed and I'll sleep on the couch outside."
"Yes," I said, astonishing myself, yet I had never felt so protected. "Er, where's the dunny?"
"Around the back. I'll come with you to make sure it's free from visitors, if you know what I mean."
I did my business, then bolted back to the hut, where I saw that a door that led from the sitting room was ajar.
"Just changing the sheets—Sarah would be angry if I wasn't using clean linen for our granddaughter," my grandfather said as he placed a couple of spotless pillows with a pat onto the mattress.
"Sarah was your wife?"
"She was."
"Where did she come from?"
"London, where you said you live now. There." He drew a top sheet out of the trunk and threw it over the mattress. "I'll leave you a blanket in case it gets chilly in the early hours, and here's a fan if it gets too hot. There's a towel on the chair if you want to take a wash. Perhaps best tomorrow morning."
"Thanks, but are you sure about this? I'm used to bunking down anywhere."
"No problem for me. I often sleep outside anyway."
I wanted to tell him that so did I, but it was becoming a bit corny.
"Good night." He came to me and kissed me on the cheek.
"Er, by the way, what should I call you?"
"I think Francis will do, don't you? Sleep well," he added, then closed the door behind him.
I saw that he'd placed my rucksack on the floor next to the bed. I stripped off and climbed onto the mattress, which was one of those old-fashioned horsehair ones with a crevasse made by bodies before you, all ready to sink into. It felt wonderful. I scanned the ceiling and the rough timber walls for many-legged creatures, but I could see none in the soft light of the lamp that sat on the nightstand. I felt as safe as I had ever felt, as if before today I'd been like a moth hovering near the flame that mesmerized it. And now I'd arrived.
Maybe I would crash and burn, but before I could worry about that further, I fell asleep.
## 28
I woke the following morning and watched the sun starting to appear over the top of Mount Hermannsburg like a shy toddler hiding behind its mother's legs. I checked my watch and saw it wasn't even six o'clock yet, but I felt full of excitement for the new day. I noticed my calves had been turned into dot paintings by mosquitoes, and I pulled on a pair of trousers, not wanting the critters to eat any more of me before I'd had my own breakfast.
As I opened the door of my bedroom, a smell of freshly baked bread wafted from the kitchen. Sure enough, my grandfather was placing a loaf on the table outside, along with butter, jam, and a coffeepot.
"Good morning, Celaeno. Did you sleep well?"
"Really well, thanks. You?"
"I'm a night owl. I have my best thoughts after midnight."
"Same here," I said as he sat down. "Wow, that bread smells amazing. Didn't know there was a bakery around here," I said.
"I bake it myself. My wife bought me the machine ten years ago. Often, I'll be out here for some time, and she wanted to make sure I had something to eat in case I was unable to shoot a passing kangaroo."
"Have you ever shot one?"
"Many times, but that was long ago. Now I prefer the easier option of the supermarket."
He placed a slice of warm bread onto a tin plate for me. I smeared butter and jam on top and watched as it melted into the soft dough.
"This is delicious," I said, taking wolf-size bites. He cut another slice for me. "So you've really lived out in the bush? With no hut to come back to?"
"Yes," he said. "I first went, as all Aboriginal boys do, when I reached manhood, around the age of fourteen."
"But I thought you were brought up as a Christian."
"I was, but the pastor respected our traditions and made no move to stop them. We at Hermannsburg were luckier than most. Pastor Albrecht even learned to speak Arrernte and had a Bible commissioned in the language, so that those who did not speak English or German could read it and enjoy it too. He was a good man, and it was a good place. We came and went as we chose, but most of us always returned. After twenty years in Papunya, so have I. It's home. Now, what are your plans?"
"I came out here to find my family, and I found you." I offered him a smile. "I haven't thought beyond that yet."
"Good. I mean, I was wondering if you'd like to stay with me for a while. Take the time to really get to know each other. And paint, of course. I was thinking that perhaps I could act as a gentle guide, maybe help you discover where your medium of art really lies. I taught at Papunya for many years."
"Er . . ."
He must have seen the expression of fear on my face, because he said, "Really, don't worry about it. It was just an idea."
"No! It's a fantastic idea! I mean, wow, yes! It's just that, well, you're so famous and everything, and I'm just worried you'll think I'm rubbish."
"I would never think that, Celaeno, you're my granddaughter for a start! Perhaps, having made no contribution to your life so far, I can make one now and help you find your way forward."
"Maybe you should see my work before you agree to help me."
"If it'll make you feel happier, then I will. If we're to stay here for a few days, we should drive to the Alice and purchase supplies and while we're there, we can drop into the gallery that has your painting on the wall."
"Okay," I agreed, "although you'll probably think it's rubb—"
"Hush, Celaeno." Francis put a finger to his lips. "Negative thought brings negative action."
We cleared away the breakfast, sweeping every crumb from the table until it was spotless. My grandfather told me that even a sniff of the tiniest morsel would bring in an army of ants before we returned. Then we headed to the back of the stable, where an old pickup truck sat in the shade of a mulga tree.
We arrived in town three hours later, and my grandfather led the way to a supermarket so we could stock up. It was a slow process, as time and again someone came to slap him on the shoulder and say "g'day." One woman even asked to take a photo with him and he stood awkwardly in front of the meat counter, looking embarrassed. As this continued through the town, I began to realize that my grandfather—even if he wasn't Clifford Possum—was certainly a major celebrity here. This was confirmed as I trailed after him into the gallery and every artist inside stopped what they were doing and stared at him openmouthed. They clustered around him, speaking in another language, and Francis answered them fluently. After more photos and a few signed slips of paper, my heart pounded as he asked Mirrin on reception where she had hung his granddaughter's painting.
"Your granddaughter?" Mirrin gazed at me, looking flustered, then shook her head. "Sorry, it isn't here anymore."
"Then where is it?" I asked, panic surging through me.
"It was only hanging up for an hour yesterday before a couple came in and bought it."
I stared at Mirrin, wondering if she was just covering her tracks because she hadn't got around to having it framed yet.
"So, now I owe ya three hundred and fifty dollars!"
"Well now, that's the best reason I ever heard for not being able to see your work," my grandfather said, with what sounded like pride in his voice.
"Celaeno's got talent, Mr. Abraham. I'll buy anything else she paints, okay?"
A few minutes later, with the first cash I had ever made from my painting stuffed into my back pocket, we left the gallery. As I walked down the street next to Francis Abraham, renowned artist, and my grandfather, I felt genuine elation.
"Right, I'll leave you to it," my grandfather said, as he tightened the last nut on the easel that I'd bought out of the proceeds of the sale. "You have everything you need?"
"Yeah, and the rest." I raised an eyebrow. On the fold-out table next to me sat a new selection of watercolors, oils, and acrylics, along with a range of brushes.
"You'll know which to use," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Remember that panic stifles your instincts and makes you blind."
He lit an insect repellent coil next to my legs to ward off the flies, then he left and I stared at the blank canvas in front of me. I'd never felt such intense pressure to perform. I opened tubes of orange and brown oils and mixed them together on the pallet. "Here goes," I breathed. Then I picked up a shiny new brush and started to paint.
Forty-five minutes later, I'd torn the canvas from the easel and thrown it to the floor because it was terrible. Next, I tried paper and watercolors, using Mount Hermannsburg as my subject in an attempt to replicate the painting I'd done a few days ago, but that was even worse than the canvas so I discarded that one too.
"It's lunch!" Francis called out from the hut.
"Not hungry," I called back, hiding the first canvas under my chair and hoping he wouldn't notice.
"It's only a ham and cheese sandwich," he said, coming onto the veranda and plopping the plate onto my lap. "Your grandmother always said that an artist needs brain food. Don't worry, I'm not going to look at anything you paint until the end of the week. So you've got plenty of time."
His words—and a really great sandwich—temporarily calmed me down, but by the end of the day I was ready to collect my rucksack and hike back to the Alice to drown my sorrows in a few stubbies. It didn't help that when I walked inside to cool down by the fan, I glanced at my grandfather sitting on a stool with a huge canvas in front of him. I watched as he mixed colors on his palette, then took a brush and filled in another section of intricate dots. Somewhere in the gorgeous mix of delicate pinks, purples, and greens, I could see the shape of a dove, barely visible and made up only of a series of tiny white flecks.
He's a bloody genius, and I can't paint the wall of a kitchen, I thought as I put my face close to the fan to cool down, then got my hair entangled in the blades and nearly scalped myself.
"Your painting's brilliant. Just awesome—ouch!" I said as Francis worked to extract my now considerable head of hair from the fan blades.
"Thank you, Celaeno. I hadn't worked on it for weeks, wasn't sure where I was going with it, but seeing you sitting there outside gave me an idea."
"You mean the dove?"
"You saw it." Even though I couldn't look at him because he was still wrestling with my hair, I knew he was pleased I'd noticed. "I think I might have to cut the last shreds out."
"Okay, do it," I encouraged him, as my neck was really beginning to crick badly.
"Right." He came back brandishing a large pair of kitchen scissors. "You know what it is that holds every human being back from fulfilling their full potential?"
"What?" I felt his hand tug gently at the clump of hair and then wield the scissors very close to my right ear. Van Gogh came to mind, but I put the thought away.
"Fear. You have to cut out the fear."
With a snip, the scissors closed in on my hair.
I didn't know if it was some kind of weird voodoo my grandfather had performed on me, but I woke at sunrise feeling calmer.
"I'm heading out to Jay Creek," he told me as we cleared away the remains of breakfast. "I'll be back late. Any problem, I've left my mobile number on the fireplace, okay?"
"Is there any signal here?"
"No," he said with a smile. "You can get a couple of bars down by the creek sometimes." He pointed below us. "See you later."
I watched him drive off in his pickup truck until he became a speck in the distance. "Right, Cee," I told myself firmly as I placed the biggest canvas I had on the easel and screwed it into place. "It might be a disaster, but we're going to be brave and have a go." Then I angled the easel away from the view of Mount Hermannsburg, because I was going to work from memory . . .
Much later, I came to and saw the sun was setting and the pickup was making its way up the slope. I looked at what I had done so far—I only had an outline and a small painted corner, but instinct told me I was on the right track. As the pickup drew nearer, I unscrewed the canvas from the easel and hurried it into my bedroom, because I really did not want my grandfather to see it yet. Then I closed the door behind me and went to put the kettle on.
"How did it go?" he asked me when he arrived on the veranda.
"Oh, okay," I said, pouring him a cup of coffee.
"Good." He nodded but said no more.
The following morning, I was up at the crack of dawn, simply because I couldn't wait to get started. And so it was for the next few days. Francis would often be out during the day, but would return at sunset with something good to eat. After supper, I'd disappear into my room to study my painting and think about where I should head with it the next day. I lost track of time as one day fed into the next, helped by the fact that my mobile had zero signal up here.
It did cross my mind that Chrissie might be thinking I'd been eaten by a dingo or, more logically, didn't want to know her after what had happened that fateful morning, and that Star might be worried about me too. So I wandered down to the creek in search of a signal, found a couple of bars, and texted them both.
Painting in outback. All fine.
My fingers hovered as I wondered whether to add PS Staying with my grandfather, but I decided against it and just wrote:
Speek when Im bak. No signal heer.x
Then before my mind could go wandering off to reality, I went back to my painting.
I put my brush down for the final time and stretched, feeling my right arm pulse with indignation over the way I had abused its muscles. I stared at what was in front of me, tempted to pick the brush up again and add a little dab here or there, but I knew I was hovering in the dangerous territory of over-painting something that was as near perfect as I could get it. I dragged my eyes and body away from it and went inside to make myself a strong cup of coffee, then lay down on my bed in the cool of the fan, feeling totally out of it.
"Celaeno, can you hear me?"
"Yup," I croaked.
"It's half past eleven and you haven't moved since last night when I came in and found you asleep."
I looked at the bright sun pouring in through the window and wondered why it was still shining at eleven o'clock at night.
"You've slept for almost fifteen hours." My grandfather smiled down at me. "Here, I've brought you some coffee."
"Jesus! The painting! Is it still outside?" I jumped out of bed, almost knocking the mug of coffee to the floor.
"I brought it in for you—good job I did, as we had some rain in the early hours. Don't worry, I averted my eyes and put a sheet over it as I carried it in." He put a warm hand on my shoulder. "Dr. Abraham diagnoses post-painting exhaustion. I got it too after I went on a 'painting bender,' as Sarah used to call it."
"Yeah, well, I've no idea what I've produced, whether it's good or bad or—"
"Whatever it is, it's a week of your life that will not have been wasted. If you feel like it, we'll take a look together after you have had something to eat. I'll leave you to have a wash and get dressed."
"Can we look at it now? I can't take the stress!" I explained as I followed him into the sitting room.
"Of course." He indicated the easel with a white sheet thrown over the canvas upon it. "Don't worry, I checked that it was dry first. Please, unveil it."
"You'll probably hate it, and . . . I don't know if it's good or what, and—"
"Celaeno, please, may I just see it?"
"Okay." I walked over to it, and with a big intake of breath, I pulled off the sheet. My grandfather took a few steps back—it was a big canvas—and folded his arms across his chest as he studied it. I went to stand next to him and did the same. He then took a step closer and I followed behind him like a shadow.
"Well?" He turned to look at me, his expression telling me nothing. "What do you think of it?"
"I thought you were the one meant to be telling me," I replied.
"First, I want to hear what you have to say about it."
His words immediately reminded me of being back in art class, when a teacher would employ this method of self-criticism before he or she then tore the entire painting to shreds.
"I . . . like it. For a first try, anyway."
"That's a good start. Please, carry on. Explain it to me."
"Well, I had this idea about taking the landscape I painted a couple of weeks ago, but instead of using watercolors, using acrylics and dots."
"Right." I watched as my grandfather moved closer to it and pointed to the ghost gum and the piece of gnarled bark. "That looks like two eyes to me, and up there, in the cave, is a tiny cirrus of white, like a spirit entering it."
"Yup," I said, delighted that he'd noticed. "The idea came from Merope—the seventh sister; when the old man's eyes are watching her as she enters the cave."
"I guessed it was something like that."
"Good." I couldn't stand it any longer. "What do you think?"
"I think, Celaeno, that you have created something unique. It's also beautiful to look at and it's actually—for a first go with dots—very well executed. Especially the ghost gum, which even though it's made up of dots and painted in acrylic, definitely has 'luminosity.' It shines out of the painting, as does the cirrus of white."
"You like it?"
"I don't just like it, Celaeno, I love it. Yes, the technical side of the dots where they fade from one color to the next could be improved, but I can show you the best technique to do that. The point is, I've never seen anything quite like this before. And if this is a first try, I can only imagine what you could do in the future. Do you realize that you have spent six days painting?"
"To be honest, I've lost all track of time . . ."
" 'In six days, the Lord made the heavens and the earth, but on the seventh day, he rested.' Celaeno, you've found your own unique 'world' this week, and I'm so very proud of you. Now come here and let me give you a hug."
After that, and a few tears shed by me, Francis disappeared outside and came back with two beers. He handed one to me. "I keep a few at the bottom of the water barrel for really special occasions. And this is definitely one of them. Cheers."
"Cheers!" We bashed our bottles together and took a sip.
"Jesus! I'm drinking before breakfast!" I exclaimed with a grin.
"You forget that it's almost lunchtime."
"And I am starving," I said, casting another glance at my painting and feeling a serious surge of pride.
Over lunch, my grandfather and I discussed it in more depth, and after we'd eaten, we sat side by side in front of a fresh canvas as he showed me his technique for painting the dots and then softening their edges so that from a distance, they didn't look like dots at all.
"Everyone has their own personal way of painting, and their own techniques," he said as I gave it a go, "and I'm sure you will develop yours. It really is a case of trial and error, and there'll be a lot of the latter. It's a part of the process as we improve." Then he turned and stared at me. "The most important question to ask is whether the painting style itself—never mind the result—felt right."
"Oh, it did, definitely. I mean, I really enjoyed it."
"Then you have found your métier. For now, at least, because an artist's life is all about finding new ways of expressing themself."
"You mean, I might have a weird Picasso moment at some point?" I chuckled.
"Most painters do—including me—but I always came back to the style I felt most comfortable with."
"Well, I've certainly had a few of those moments in the past," I said, and told him about my weird installation last year.
"Don't you see that you were just using real objects to study shape and form? You were learning how to position the components on a canvas. All experimentation teaches you something."
"I've never looked at it like that before, but yeah, you're right."
"You're a natural-born artist, Celaeno, and now you have taken all those important first steps toward finding your own style, the sky is the limit. Just one thing, I noticed you haven't signed the painting yet."
"I never do usually 'cause I don't want anyone to know it was painted by me."
"Do you with this?"
"Yeah. I do."
"Then you'd better get practicing your signature," Francis advised me. "I promise that it'll be the first of many."
Later that afternoon, I took a thin brush and a tube of black paint and stood in front of the painting, readying myself to sign it.
Celaeno D'Aplièse?
CeCe D'Aplièse?
C. D'Aplièse . . . ?
Then a thought struck me and I wandered over to my grandfather, who was sitting on the veranda, whittling at a piece of wood.
"What are you doing?"
"Having a 'Picasso moment.' " He smiled at me. "Seeing what shapes I can create. It's not going well. Signed your picture yet?"
"No, 'cause the thing is that 'Celaeno D'Aplièse' is a bit of a mouthful and I get really irritated when everyone pronounces the 'D'Aplièse' wrong."
"You're asking me if you should have a nom de plume?"
"Yeah, but I don't know what."
"I wouldn't mind at all if you took my surname, even though that was a made-up one."
"Thanks, but then I'd be trading on your name and being your granddaughter and all and . . ."
"You want to do it by your talent alone. I understand."
"So, I was thinking that, if your biological father had married your mum like he wanted to, your surname would have been Mercer?"
"Yes, it would have been."
"And my mum's, at least until she got married."
"Correct."
"So what do you think of 'Celaeno Mercer'?"
My grandfather stared into the distance, as though his thoughts were flying back across all the generations of our family. Then he raised his eyes to mine.
"Celaeno, I think it is perfect."
When I woke up the next morning, I felt really odd. Like my time out there was over—for now—and there was somewhere else I needed to be, but I couldn't think where. And having that thought meant I had to let reality begin flooding back in to help me decide on what exactly I was going to do with my life from here. I didn't even know what day it was, let alone the date, so I walked into breakfast and asked Francis, feeling really embarrassed.
"Don't worry, losing track of time simply means you're fully engaged in what you're doing. It's the twenty-fifth of January."
"Wow," I said, feeling amazed that less than a month had passed since I'd left Thailand, and at the same time wondering where the time had gone.
He stared at me quizzically. "You're thinking where do you go from here, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I am a bit."
"I don't need to tell you how much I'd like it if you stayed for a while. Not in this hut, of course—I have a very comfortable house in the Alice with plenty of room for the two of us. But maybe you have other places to go, other people to see . . ."
"The thing is . . ." I rubbed my palms on the top of my trousers, feeling agitated. "I'm just not sure. There's a couple of situations that are a . . . bit confusing."
"I find in life that there always are. Do you want to talk about them?"
I thought about Star, then Ace and Chrissie, and shook my head. "Not right now."
"Fine. Well, I was thinking that I'd probably head back to the Alice later today, as long as you don't want to stay here any longer. Even I'm looking forward to a decent bath!"
"Yeah, that sounds really good," I agreed, trying to force a smile.
"I also have some photograph albums there which I could show you."
"I'd love to see them," I said.
"For now, why don't you take a walk? That's what I always do when I'm having to make decisions."
"Okay, I will."
So off I headed, and as I walked, I imagined going back to London and, with my newfound style, standing in my beautiful apartment and painting every day all by myself. Granted, Star would be only a train journey away, not living on the other side of the world, but I knew she would never be coming back for longer than maybe an overnight stay, so we could catch up on each other's lives. Ace was also in London, locked up in some scummy prison among murderers and sexual deviants. At the very least, I felt I owed him an explanation, and a show of support. Whether he believed me or not, it didn't really matter. It was just the right thing to do.
Then there was home-home—Atlantis, and Ma, both of whom I hadn't visited for almost seven months, but I couldn't imagine my future there. Even though one day, I did want to paint the view across Lake Geneva with the mountains behind it.
That was Europe. So, what about Australia, the country I'd always been too terrified to visit? Yet, the past weeks had been the most amazing of my whole life. It was cheesy to even think it, but it felt like I'd been reborn. Like all the bits of me that hadn't fit in Europe had been stripped down and rearranged so that they—I—was a better "whole." Just like my installation. I'd never managed to get it perfect, but then I'd never be perfect either. But I knew I was better, and that was good enough.
My grandfather, Chrissie . . . they were here too. So far, I hadn't had to earn their love, because it had been offered to me unconditionally, but I knew I wanted to in the future.
And as I stood in the middle of this huge, open space with the sun beating down far too hard on my tender head, I realized there wasn't a decision to be made.
I turned tail and walked back to the hut.
"I belong here," I told my grandfather as we sat in a restaurant in the Alice a few hours later, eating my new favorite—kangaroo. "It's as simple as that."
"I'm glad," he said, the inherent joy in his eyes telling me just how much he was.
"Although I do have to go back to England to sort out some stuff, you know?"
"I do know. You need to tie up loose ends," he agreed. "Maybe it's the streak of German in us that makes us want to put our house in order before we can move on," he said with a smile.
"Well, talking of putting houses in order, I'm planning to sell mine. I think I told you I bought an apartment overlooking the River Thames in London with my inheritance. It's all been a bit of a disaster."
"Everyone makes mistakes, it's part of the human learning curve, as long as you do learn from them," he added with a sigh. "If you want to come back here, my home is yours for as long as you need it."
"Thanks." I hadn't seen his house there in the Alice yet. After arriving, we'd gone straight to eat. "As well as putting my apartment on the market, I also need to see my sister to make things right there."
"Now, that really is a reason to go back," he agreed. "People are more important than possessions, I always think."
We finished our food, then got into the truck to drive to his house. It turned out to be just on the perimeter of the town, in a line of pretty white chalet-style houses with big verandas at ground and roof level.
"Ignore the garden. Keeping plants in order really isn't an interest of mine," he remarked as we walked to the front door.
"Star could sort that lot out in a few days," I said as he put the key in the lock and opened up.
Inside, I immediately got the impression that whoever had designed the interior had wanted to bring a little piece of England to the outback. It was definitely very feminine, with pretty flower-sprigged curtains hanging at the windows, hand-embroidered scatter cushions adorning an old but comfortable sofa, and scores of photographs lining the two bookshelves that sat on either side of the fireplace. The lighting was soft too, the golden glow emanating from lampshades set on brass stands.
All in all, despite the fact it had that musty smell that houses get when they're not properly lived in, I felt cocooned and comfortable there.
"I put the water heater on a timer last time I was here, so it should be piping hot. I'm off to run a bath for you," said my grandfather.
"That's great, thanks," I said, thinking of the last time I was in a bath, covered in rose petals, with a pair of gentle hands wrapped around my waist. How far I had come since then . . .
After a long and seriously fantastic soak in the tub, I stepped out and saw the water was mud colored, with all sorts of small insects that must have embedded themselves in the crevices of my body and hair while I was out at the hut. It felt good to be clean, except I only had dirty clothes to put back on. I padded back to the sitting room in a towel.
"Do you have an old T-shirt I could borrow? My clothes stink."
"I can do better than that. Your grandmother was not far off your size, and there's a wardrobe-ful in our bedroom."
"Are you sure you don't mind?" I asked him as I followed him along the corridor and he turned on a light in the room, before pulling an old cedar-wood wardrobe open.
"Of course not, I can't think of a better use for them. I was only going to give them away to the charity shop anyway. Take your pick."
Feeling a bit weird about raiding my dead granny's wardrobe, I looked through the rack of stuff. Most of it was paisley-patterned cotton dresses, dirndl skirts, and blouses featuring lace collars, but there were also a couple of long linen shirts. I put one on and walked back to the sitting room. My mobile phone had found a signal again, and there was a message from Talitha Myers, the solicitor in Adelaide. I listened to her telling me that she'd discovered the name "Francis Abraham" in the ledgers and I felt proud that I'd got there before her.
Francis was now in the bath himself, so I amused myself by looking at the silver-framed photographs. Most were of him and a woman, who I had to presume was my grandmother. She was small and pale and neat, with her dark hair fastened in a coil on top of her head.
Another was of a bright-faced little girl of about three, grinning cheekily at the camera, then another of the same child at maybe eleven or twelve, sitting between my granny and grandpa. "My mother." I swallowed hard. I couldn't see any of her older than fifteen or so, and was just wondering about this when Francis appeared in the room.
"You've seen the photographs of your mother?"
"Yes. What was her name?"
"Elizabeth. She was a lovely little girl, always laughing. Looked just like her mother."
"I saw. And as a grown-up?" I probed.
Francis sighed. "It's a long story, Celaeno."
"Sorry, it's just that there's still so much I don't know or understand."
"Yes. Well, why don't I go and make us both some coffee? Then we can talk."
"Okay."
He was back within a few minutes, and as we sipped our coffees in silence, I could feel he was garnering the strength to tell me.
"Perhaps it's easier to go back to where we left off," he said eventually.
"Whatever you feel is best. I'd love to know what happened to Kitty, and Charlie and Drummond."
"Of course you would, and it was through Kitty that I met my wife, Sarah . . ."
## KITTY
Tilbury Port, England
January 1949
## 29
Good-bye, dearest sister. I can't tell you what a joy it's been having you here with us," Miriam said as they stood by the gangplank that would soon separate them once more. "Promise to come back as soon as you can, won't you?"
"You know I certainly intend to, God willing," Kitty said. "Good-bye, darling, and thank you for everything."
With a final wave, Miriam made her way down the gangplank.
Milling around Kitty were relatives reluctant to let go of their loved ones who were departing for Australia. Even though she had made this journey many times over the past forty years, witnessing the human pain of separation still affected her deeply.
She felt as if she were drowning in a storm of tears as the ship's engines roared into life and the horn hooted a final warning. Amid the crowd, a few faces stood out, despair clear on their features: a woman weeping inconsolably and hugging her infant to her, and a gaunt, gray-haired man, panic clear on his face as he watched the gangplank being hauled up.
"Where is she? She was meant to meet me here on the ship! Excuse me, madam," the man said, turning to her. "Have you by any chance seen a blond-haired woman boarding the ship in the last few minutes?"
"I couldn't say," Kitty replied honestly. "There were so many people coming and going, but I'm sure she's on board somewhere."
There was a second hoot of the horn as the boat edged away from the dock and the man looked over the side as though he might jump.
"Oh God, where are you . . . ?!" he screamed to the wind, the sound of his voice drowned out by the engines and the screeching of the seagulls.
Another human being trounced by love, Kitty thought as she watched the man stagger away. He looked like an army boy, with his prematurely gray hair and haunted eyes. She'd seen many of them in England during her extended stay. Those who had survived six years of fighting may have been termed "lucky" to have come back—she had sat next to an army captain at dinner who had laughed it off by telling stories of the fun they'd all had—yet Kitty knew it was all a façade. These men would never fully recover, and neither would the loved ones they'd left behind.
Kitty shivered in the brisk breeze that was whipping up as they eased out of Tilbury Port and along the Thames Estuary. Inside, she made her way along a thickly carpeted corridor to her cabin. Opening the door, she found a steward setting up afternoon tea on the table in the drawing room.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. My name is James McDowell and I'll be attending to your needs on the voyage. I thought you could do with something to eat, but I wasn't sure what you like."
"Thank you, James," Kitty replied, soothed by the young man's soft voice. "Have you traveled to Australia before?"
"Me? No, it's a real adventure, isn't it? I used to be a valet to a wealthy gentleman over in Hampshire, but then he died, and since the war ended folk have no need of a valet, so I thought I'd try my luck in Australia. Have you traveled there before?"
"It's my home. I've lived there for over forty years."
"Then I might be picking your brains on what to do when I get there. It's the land of opportunity, so they tell me."
And the land of broken dreams, thought Kitty. "Yes." She forced a smile. "It is."
"Well now, I'll leave you to it, ma'am. I've unpacked your trunk, but you'll have to tell me what you wish to wear this evening. You have an invitation to dine at the captain's table, so I'll be back at six to draw your bath. Just press the bell if you need me sooner."
"Thank you, James," she said as he shut the cabin door behind him. His strong features and blue eyes had reminded her so of Charlie.
During those dark days at the outbreak of war in Europe ten years ago, her son had been busy in Broome, working with the Australian navy to fit out the requisitioned luggers that would transport the soldiers to fields of battle in Africa and Europe. Soon after, the Japanese crews had been interned and with no luggers to sail, Charlie had written to tell her it felt as if the town was slowly and quietly dying.
At least Charlie's safe in Broome, she had thought at the time. She herself had already moved to live at Alicia Hall in Adelaide, so that her son—and Elise, his wife—would not feel as though a shadow were following them on their every business and domestic move.
Then, in March of 1942, Kitty had opened her newspaper to headlines of an unexpected attack on the northwest coast of Australia. Casualties were recorded in Broome. When she finally managed to get through by telephone, she was not even surprised to hear that Charlie had been one of them.
"Are you determined to take everything I love from me?!" she had railed at the gods above her, walking the gardens at Alicia Hall in her nightdress as the servants looked on at their hysterical mistress. There had been no Camira beside her to comfort her, for she had left Kitty too.
Elise had survived the air raid and it had taken only six months for Kitty to receive a letter from her daughter-in-law announcing that she was marrying a mining magnate and moving to the town of Perth. There had been no children in the marriage and Kitty had felt curiously empty at the news. She knew she had thrust Elise under her son's nose twenty years ago, wishing to take his mind from Alkina. She doubted Charlie had ever loved his wife; he had simply gone through the motions.
Kitty sipped her tea as the ship sailed her and her dark thoughts farther from England. She had had almost twenty years to ponder the mystery of how Camira and her daughter had disappeared from Broome within a few months of each other. And plenty of time to berate herself for never confronting the situation. She'd ignored Charlie's obvious devastation when Alkina had disappeared the night before his twenty-first birthday and instinct told her the two events were connected. To this day, she missed Camira, who had stood by her side and kept secrets that were beyond keeping.
Kitty took a bite of a sandwich that tasted as bland and as empty as her life had been since everyone she loved had left her. Yet—she cautioned herself against falling into self-pity—there had been one bright light that had arrived out of the blue four long years after Charlie's death.
In the immediate aftermath, she had once more by default become the caretaker of the Mercer empire. Beside herself with grief, she had been unable to rouse herself to visit the opal mines, drive up to the vineyards, or glance at the figures from the cattle station. Nor had she read the company bank statements that piled up unopened on her desk. She had—as they termed it in Victorian novels—gone into a decline and become a virtual recluse, the guilt of all she had done and not done beating down on her day and night.
During those years of darkness, she'd longed for death but had been too cowardly to approach it.
Then, one evening in 1946, her maid had knocked on her bedroom door.
"Mrs. Mercer, there's a gentleman downstairs who says it's urgent he speaks to you."
"Please, you know I do not receive visitors. Send him away."
"I have tried to, ma'am, but he refuses to go. He says he will sit outside the gate until you receive him. Do I call the police?"
"What is his name?"
"He's a Mr. Ralph Mackenzie. He claims he's your brother."
Kitty had cast her mind back across the years to think who this man might be. A man with the same name as her father . . .
And then it had come to her.
Kitty rose from the elegant silk-covered sofa and walked to one of the large picture windows, the ship now gliding gently out on the open sea. Ralph Mackenzie had arrived in her life at just the right moment, a reminder of at least one good deed she'd accomplished.
She remembered descending the sweeping staircase, stopping halfway down to view a tall man, clutching his hat anxiously. He'd raised his head as he'd heard her footsteps, and in the shadowy gloom of dusk, Kitty had wondered if she was seeing a replica of her father in his younger days. This man bore the same charismatic blue eyes, strong jaw, and thick auburn hair.
"Mr. Mackenzie. Please come through."
In the drawing room, he'd sat nervously on the edge of the sofa as the maid had poured their tea.
Ralph had cleared his throat. "Ma told me about you. She always said how kind you'd been to her when she was . . . encumbered with me. When I told her I was coming to seek out a new life here in Australia, she gave me your address. She'd kept it for all these years, you see. I never thought that you would still be here, but . . . you are."
Then he'd taken out the silver cross Kitty had handed all those years ago to Annie. She had stared at it, remembering her white-hot anger at her father's duplicity.
They'd talked then, and Ralph had told her how he'd been a junior accountant at a shipyard in Leith. Then she'd invited him to stay for dinner as he recounted how difficult things had become since the war had ended. She'd heard how hard his wife had taken it when he'd had to tell her he'd been laid off due to the order books being empty.
"It was Ruth, my wife, who encouraged me to come over here and see for myself what Australia could offer a man like me."
Kitty had asked a question she had been holding back since the beginning of the evening.
"Did you ever speak to my . . . our father?"
"I didn't know he was my father until Ma, God bless her soul, died. I'd seen the Reverend McBride when Ma took me to church, where we'd sit in the back pew. Now I understand why she was always so very angry after the service. She'd been using me to remind him of the sin he'd committed." He'd glanced up apologetically at Kitty, but she had only nodded grimly.
"When I was thirteen," he'd continued, "I was sent on a scholarship to Fettes College. It was the best chance I got to improve my circumstances and make a life for myself. I didn't know until much later that he—my father—had arranged it for me. Despite everything, I'm grateful to him for that."
By the end of the evening, she had offered him a job as accountant to the Mercer companies. Six months later, his wife, Ruth, had sailed over to join him.
Kitty moved away from the view of the gray waves beyond the private deck area outside the picture window, pondering on the fact that Ralph's arrival in Adelaide had undoubtedly saved her. After the unbearable loss of Charlie, Kitty had found herself stirred to focus her energy on this amiable man—her half brother and over eighteen years her junior—who had appeared so unexpectedly in her life.
And over the past few years, Ralph had proved himself bright and eager to learn, and had subsequently become her right-hand man. Even though the pearling business in Broome had never recovered after the war, just as Charlie had foreseen, the profits of the opal mine and the vineyard were growing by the day. Between the two of them—brother and sister—the Mercer finances were slowly being restored again. The only sadness was that Ruth, after years of trying, had recently been told she would never have children. Ralph had written to Kitty in Scotland to tell her that they had bought a puppy, which was currently soaking up Ruth's thwarted maternal urges.
Due to the excellent capabilities of her half brother, Kitty was sailing back to Australia for the final time. Unbeknownst to Ralph, she would be handing over the business in its entirety to him on her return, knowing that the company's future was in safe hands.
She had returned to Leith six months ago for her father's memorial service. He had died of old age, nothing more; she and Ralph had greeted the news with an uneasy mixture of sadness and guilty relief. During her time staying with her mother, Kitty had not mentioned a word about Ralph Mackenzie to her family. She'd also traveled to Italy with her sister Miriam, to take a short cultural tour of its ancient cities, and had fallen head over heels in love with Florence. There she had purchased a small but elegant apartment, from which she could see the roof of the great Duomo. Her intention was to winter there and spend the summers with her family in Scotland.
The fact she had just reached her sixtieth birthday had provided a spur; there was little left for her in Australia other than painful memories. And, having tried for years of her life to move on from the Mercer family and the silken threads it seemed to have trapped her in for most of her adult life, she was now determined to finally do it.
Kitty walked to the wardrobe to choose what she would wear to the captain's table this evening. When she arrived in Adelaide, she would spend the next few weeks putting her affairs in order. This included seeing a solicitor to legally register her "husband" as deceased. The idea of revisiting the deceit that had been wrought by Drummond sent a chill up her spine, but it had to be done so she could at last walk away and begin again.
As she held up an evening gown to her still-slim body, she pondered on whether Drummond actually was dead. Often during long, lonely nights when she had yearned for his touch, she'd imagined every creak of a door, or an animal rustling through foliage in the garden, to be the sound of his return. Yet how could she have ever expected him to come back? It had been she who had sent him away.
Perhaps, she thought, returning to her homeland would allow the steel box in which she'd placed her heart to finally be wedged back open.
As the voyage got under way, Kitty slipped easily into her usual onboard routine. Uninterested in socializing with her fellow first-class guests, she took bracing walks along the deck and, as they sailed south, enjoyed the warm prickle of sunshine on her skin. Sometimes at night, she'd hear the sound of music and laughter coming from the third-class deck below her, an impromptu sing-along to a penny whistle or an accordion. She remembered how she had once danced jigs on the lower deck, the air thick with cigarette smoke. The camaraderie had been infectious; her friends may not have had wealth, but they had the true riches of their hopes and dreams.
Kitty had realized a long time ago that privilege had isolated her. Even though part of her longed to run downstairs and join in, she realized that now, she could never be accepted among them.
"And there they all are, dreaming that one day they might be up here where I am," she sighed as James arrived to draw her bath.
"Are you going out today when we dock at Port Said?" asked James as he poured out her cup of English breakfast tea.
"I haven't really thought about it," she said. "Are you?"
"I am indeed! I can hardly believe we're nearing Egypt—the land of the pharaohs. To be honest, Mrs. Mercer, I'm eager to get my feet back on dry land. I'm feeling cooped up on board and my friend Stella says there's things to see, though we must be careful not to stray too far. I'm taking some of the orphans off with me to cheer them up a bit."
"Orphans?"
"Yes, I'd reckon going on a hundred of them are down in third class. They've been shipped out from England to find new families in Australia."
"I see." Kitty took a sip of her tea. "Then perhaps I will join you all."
"Really?" James eyed her incredulously. "Some of them stink, Mrs. Mercer, there's no proper facilities for washing in their quarters."
"I am sure I will cope," she replied briskly. "So, I shall meet you by the bottom of the gangplank when the ship docks at ten tomorrow."
"All right," he said, "but don't say I didn't warn you."
The following day, Kitty walked down the gangplank into Port Said. The smell of rotting fruit and unwashed bodies accosted her nose as she heard shouts ringing out along the busy port. A steady stream of crates, animals, and human beings was moving to and from the steamships.
James was waiting for her, along with a tall redheaded girl and a ragtag collection of children.
"This is Stella." James introduced the redheaded girl, her sunbonnet pulled low to protect her white skin. "She's been doing her best to take care of some of the younger ones downstairs," he said, turning to her with what Kitty recognized as utter adoration in his eyes.
"A pleasure to meet you, Stella. And what are all your names?" Kitty bent down to speak to the youngest, who could have been no more than five.
"Eddie," another boy with a strong Cockney accent answered for him. " 'E don't speak much."
"And that's Johnny, Davy, and Jimmy, then there's Mabel and Edna and Susie . . . and I'm Sarah," said a bright-eyed, painfully thin young girl with sallow skin and lank brown hair, who Kitty hazarded a guess was around fourteen or fifteen. "We've all adopted each other, 'aven't we?"
"Yes!" chorused the grimy set of faces.
"Well now, I am Mrs. Mercer, and I know somewhere nearby that sells all sorts of different kinds of sweetmeats," Kitty announced. "Shall we go and take a look?"
"Yes!" the children cheered.
"Come along then," Kitty ordered as, on instinct, she swept little Eddie up in her arms.
"Glad you know your way around, Mrs. Mercer. I've never seen anything like it in my life," James said to her as they made their way through the clamor of street hawkers. Kitty looked behind her and saw Sarah and Stella holding tightly to the hands of the others.
"Lots of darkies around here, in't there, Davy?" Kitty heard Johnny whisper to his friend as the local residents swirled around them in their bright-colored robes and fez hats.
She led the party beyond the docks and into the town itself. There, she knew a vast street market which sold delicious-smelling spices, fruit, and flatbreads baking in scorching-hot ovens, the air around them rippling with the heat.
"Ooh-er, look at those." Sarah pointed to a glistening jewel-colored pile of Turkish delight, sprinkled with icing sugar.
"Yes, it is absolutely delicious," Kitty said. "I'd like"—she counted the heads—"eight bags containing three pieces each," she instructed the vendor behind the trestle table, then mimed and gesticulated until the man understood what she required.
"Here, Eddie. Try this." Kitty held out the sweet to the little boy tucked into her shoulder. Eddie glanced at it and, with some reluctance, removed his thumb from his mouth and stuck out his little pink tongue to taste the icing sugar.
"We'll have to watch out that they're not sick, Missus M," said Sarah, who was standing at Kitty's other shoulder, doling out the paper bags. "They ain't had a treat like this in the whole of their lives."
"Good God, some of them are positively emaciated," Kitty whispered to her.
"They do feed us, missus. In fact, some o' the grub is better than wot I got in the orphanage. It's just that we all got a bit sick, wot with all the big waves. Especially the little ones. He," Sarah said, pointing at Eddie, whose face was a picture of bliss as he savored the Turkish delight, "got really bad with it."
They wandered around the market, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the roughly carved wooden replicas of the Sphinx and Tutankhamun's sarcophagus.
They stopped by another stall, where Kitty bought them each a fresh orange and they all stared at the fruit as though it was the best present they had ever received.
They returned to the gangplank just before four o'clock, the children's faces sticky with icing sugar and orange juice. Kitty lifted a sleeping Eddie into Sarah's arms.
"Thanks, Missus M, we won't forget your kindness," Sarah said. "You made everyone right 'appy today. And if you need anyone to darn your posh frocks, I'm yer girl. I don't charge a quarter as much as them as are employed on board, and I'm much better than they are!" Sarah gave her a grin and shepherded the children down the stairs.
"I thought we could possibly accommodate two of the orphans per night in my bathtub," Kitty said that evening as James laid out her dress for dinner.
"That's very kind of you," James gulped, "but I'm not sure how the purser would take to me bringing the steerage passengers up to first class."
"Then you will just have to find a way. Let me tell you, James, one of the keys to health is cleanliness. At present, those children's skins encourage a wealth of bacteria to breed. Will you be responsible for little Eddie being pronounced dead before he reaches the shores of Australia?"
"Well, no, I—"
"Then I am sure you can devise a plan. If you manage this, I can offer you a good, steady wage working for one of my companies when we arrive in Adelaide. So, will we try?"
"Yes, Mrs. Mercer," he said doubtfully.
That night, two children arrived at the door of Kitty's suite of rooms. They were hurried in by James, who then left, banging the door shut behind him. After gasps ensued from the two boys, who could not believe that such luxury and space existed on the steamship, Kitty ushered them to the bathroom and asked them to undress.
"Me mam said I was never to take off me clothes in front of a stranger." Jimmy—who was eight at the most—had crossed his arms and was shaking his head.
"And me, Missus M," added Johnny.
"Well then, why don't I leave you in here alone? Please give yourselves a good scrub using the carbolic soap." Kitty pointed to it. "There's a bath towel for each of you when you step out. When you've finished, there'll be supper waiting for you."
The boys slammed the bathroom door in her face. Kitty heard a whispered conversation, then some splashes, which eventually led to giggles of delight.
"Dry yourselves off quickly, boys, your supper's getting cold," she said through the door.
They emerged looking fresher, even if Kitty still noticed smudges on their necks. As she sat them down at the table in front of two large bowls of stew, she sniffed and realized there was still a rancid smell emanating from their unwashed clothes.
The following morning, as James was serving her breakfast, they discussed which two orphans would come up to take a bath that night.
"It's a good thing you're doing for the children, Mrs. Mercer."
"It would be even better if we could provide them with clean clothes. The weather is so much warmer now. All they will need is a shirt and a pair of shorts, then we could send their current sets of clothes to the laundry. Any ideas?"
"Sarah is a great little seamstress. She's darned all the boys' socks and made a whole wardrobe of clothes out of scraps for Mabel's doll."
"Excellent. Then we must set her to work."
"She doesn't have a sewing machine, Mrs. Mercer."
"Then we shall procure one forthwith. Tell the purser that the eccentric Mrs. Mercer has a fancy for sewing to while away the hours on board. I'm sure they have a number in the laundry department."
"Righto, I'll see what I can do, but what about material?"
"Leave that one with me." Kitty tapped her nose. "And send Sarah to see me this afternoon. We shall take tea together and discuss our project."
"There now," Kitty said, leading Sarah into her bedroom. She indicated the pile of nightgowns and skirts on the bed. "Can you do something with those?"
Sarah stared at the heap of Kitty's clothes, then turned to her, horrified.
"Missus M, this is real expensive stuff, like. I can't start cutting it apart, it would be sacrilege."
"Of course it wouldn't be, Sarah. I have more clothes than I could ever wear, and we can always steal a sheet or two from the bed if need be."
"If you say so, Missus M," Sarah said as her fingers traced the delicate lace at the neck of a nightgown.
"I do. The sewing machine will arrive later this afternoon and you can get to work tomorrow."
Sarah's blue eyes were huge in her thin, pale face. "But what will they say with me bein' up 'ere?"
"The purser will say absolutely nothing because I will tell him that I have employed you as my lady's maid and that you are mending my clothes. Now, I shall see you at nine o'clock sharp."
"Right you are, Missus M."
Sarah stood up, the dress she was wearing hanging loose on her slight frame. As James ushered her out, Kitty's heart bled at the thought of these orphans, sent across the world into the unknown with no one to care for them.
Kitty only hoped that life would be kinder to them once they reached Australia's shores.
By the end of the week, all the orphans had a new set of clothes fashioned by Sarah's nimble fingers. Kitty had also enjoyed the girl's company, as she sat at her sewing machine chattering away about the bombs that had fallen in the East End during the war as if she were recalling a walk in the park.
"The last one did fer ten of us in our street, including me mam. We was in the cellar, see, 'cause the sirens had gone off, then she realized she'd left 'er knitting upstairs and went to fetch it just as the bomb fell on our roof. I were dug outta the rubble without a scratch. I were only six years old at the time. Chap that heard me caterwauling said it was a blimmin' miracle."
"Goodness," Kitty breathed. "Where did you go after that?"
"Me auntie took me into 'er 'ouse down the road, till me dad came back from soldiering in France. Except 'e never did come back, and me auntie couldn't afford to keep me, so I was put into an orphanage, see. It were all right there, 'cause we all stuck together. It's what you 'ave to do, isn't it, Missus M?"
"Yes." Kitty struggled to swallow the lump in her throat, marveling at Sarah's bravery and positivity.
"Everyone says that you can make a new life for yerself in Australia. What's it like, Missus M?"
Vast . . . Heartbreaking . . . Extraordinary . . . Cruel . . .
"It's truly the land of possibility. I'm sure you'll do very well there, Sarah. How old are you, by the way?"
"Fifteen, Missus M, and being as I'm useful with me 'ands, I'm 'oping I'll get a job and make some money of me own. And find a fella," she giggled, the palest of blushes rising to her cheeks. "Right, those are the last o' the lot." Sarah removed a pair of shorts from under the needle of the machine and gave them a shake to straighten them out. "They should fit Jimmy good, as long as he don't go losing more weight."
"Well done. These are beautifully sewn." Kitty took them from Sarah's hands and folded them neatly onto the pile with the rest of the clothes. "You can take them all down with you and hand them out."
"Yeah, though I'll 'ave to be careful they don't get stolen. There's a lot down there would rob yer as much as look at yer. I was also wonderin' whether I could take that bit of sheet that's left over an' sew some 'ankies outta it to cheer up a friend of mine. 'E cries a lot, see," she added in explanation. "A lotta them do down below."
"Of course you may, and thank you, Sarah, for all your hard work. Now, here's your wages." Kitty picked up an embroidered blouse and skirt that, at present, would drown Sarah's slight form. "Can you do something with these to make them fit you?"
"Ooh, Missus M . . ." Her hand reached out to touch the soft fabric. "I couldn't take them, not downstairs at least. They'd be filthy in five seconds flat."
"Then we will fit them to you and they can stay up here with me until we leave the ship. You'll need to be looking your best to attract a 'fella,' after all."
"Thanks, Missus M, you're like our guardian angel," Sarah said as she collected the pile of clothes, plus the spare sheet, and headed to the door. "See yer later."
"I only wish I could be," Kitty sighed as she closed it behind her.
## 30
Despite the look of disapproval from the purser, Kitty insisted that her small orphan tribe come to join her as the ship approached Adelaide port, where they were all to disembark. She ordered a last feast that they devoured hungrily, their eyes searching the horizon every so often for the first sight of the place where their new life would begin. When it appeared, spotted by Jimmy with a shout, they all ran onto the terrace to hang over the railings.
"Cor!"
"Look at them 'ills! They're green, not red!"
"Where's the 'ouses and the town? Don't look like there's nothing 'ere."
Kitty lifted Eddie into her arms and stroked his fine, downy hair. "Can you see the sand, Eddie? Maybe I can take you one day to make a sand castle."
As usual, Eddie didn't reply. Kitty wrapped her arms tighter around his frail body as he snuggled into her shoulder.
James appeared on the terrace to say that the children had to go back downstairs to get ready to disembark.
"Will someone be there to greet them?" she asked him as he herded them toward the door.
"Apparently there'll be officials who'll take them to meet their new families. I've heard it's a bit of a meat market—it's the strongest boys that get picked first, and the youngest and prettiest girls."
"What happens to those who don't get picked?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Mercer," James replied.
But Kitty knew he did.
"Now then," she said, turning to the gaggle of excited faces that stared up at her so trustingly. "I'm going to give each of you a card with my name and address on it. I live very near the center of Adelaide, and if any of you need my help, you're to come and find me at Alicia Hall. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Missus M," they chorused.
"Well then, I will say good-bye." Kitty kissed their clean, shiny heads and watched as they left the cabin for the last time.
"And God bless you all," she murmured, tears filling her eyes.
Back at Alicia Hall, Kitty set about tying up all the loose ends of her life in Australia. A long afternoon was spent with her solicitor, Mr. Angus, as she explained that all of the Mercer businesses should be transferred to Ralph, and a sum of money invested in stocks and shares to support herself in old age. The money was to be passed on to charity in the event of her death.
"I also wish to officially declare my husband dead, given he has now been missing for thirty-seven years," she said, her face not betraying a single emotion.
"I see." Mr. Angus tapped his pen on his blotter. "That should not present a problem, Mrs. Mercer, but I will need some time to gather the evidence."
"What evidence do you need? No one has seen or heard from him in decades."
"Of course. It is simply the bureaucracy of declaring someone dead in absentia—we have to show the court that we have made sufficient attempts to find your husband, even though the balance of probabilities is that he is, indeed, deceased. I shall begin the process for you immediately."
"Thank you."
Her brother Ralph arrived back from the opal mine in Coober Pedy, and the two of them sat down to discuss the business.
"Given the current financial crisis in Europe, I'd say that we're holding up quite well. It's a good time to expand, Kitty. When I was in Coober Pedy, I was offered some land that's going cheap. I think it will be an excellent investment."
"I trust to your judgment, Ralph, but do we have the funds?"
"We certainly would if we sold off Kilgarra cattle station. I've been looking at the accounts—you may remember the old manager died a while back? The replacement manager does not seem to be quite as regular with his monthly reports. I think I should travel up to the north to see for myself what's going on."
"Is that really necessary?"
"I believe so, yes. I've had no reply to any of my recent telegrams."
"I've never been up there," Kitty said, knowing full well why she hadn't. "It's such a very long way away."
"Closer now that one can take the Ghan train to Alice Springs. Kilgarra station is only two days' ride away by pony and cart, but I would need to leave soon."
"Of course."
"Then there is the question of the properties in Broome. I have sold off all the luggers as we discussed, but that still leaves the office, warehouses, and, of course, the house. Do you wish to keep it? I know how many memories it holds for you."
"Yes," she said, surprising herself, "but the business premises can be sold. Now, dear Ralph, I must tell you of my plans for the future."
Kitty watched Ralph's expression turn to abject surprise when she told him she was handing over the entire Mercer empire to him.
"I will take a modest pension from the business, but I have other money of my own and besides, my needs will be few. And then, of course, there is Alicia Hall. I intend to pass it over to you."
"Truly, Kitty, are you sure? You have known me less than three years and—"
"Ralph." Kitty laid a gentle hand on his arm. "You are my brother, blood of my blood. I can think of no one better to care for the business in the future. You have proved yourself a talented manager, with an excellent head for business. I am sure you will be able to ride the storm of change I feel is coming to Australia. And in truth, I will be quite happy to hand over the reins. I have been an accidental caretaker for far too long."
"Then thank you, Kitty. I am honored by your trust in me."
"So, that is settled. I am thinking . . ." Kitty stared off into the distance. "I am thinking that I shall ready myself to leave by April. Although there is one more journey that I promised myself I should make when I first sailed over here as a young girl."
"And where is that?"
"To Ayers Rock. Can you believe I have never seen it still, after all these years? So," Kitty said, smiling at him, "you will have company on the Ghan. I shall come with you as far as Alice Springs."
As Kitty made her final preparations to leave Australia's shores, she realized there was little she wished to take to Europe with her—almost everything at Alicia Hall had been chosen by Edith, her mother-in-law. Papers were being drawn up ready for her to sign the business into Ralph's name when she returned from her trip to Alice Springs. Mr. Angus informed her that he was well under way with registering Andrew's death in absentia and Kitty had written a brief statement as to her "husband's" mental state after the Koombana had sunk, hoping it would be enough to convince a judge.
She received Andrew's death certificate in the post two weeks later, and sat staring at it with a mixture of horror and relief. Walking outside onto the veranda, she glanced at the very spot where she had first laid eyes on Drummond as an eighteen-year-old girl.
"It's over," she murmured to herself, "it's finally over."
A strange sense of peace had descended on her by the time she heard the doorbell ring as she was eating her solitary dessert. Wondering who could be calling so late at night, she heard Nora, her Aboriginal maid of all works, answer the front door.
"Scusum me, Missus Mercer," Nora said as she peeped around the dining room door a few seconds later, "there's some beggar who sayum she need see you. She say you givem her address. Her name Sarah. Shall I let her in?"
"Why yes, of course." Kitty rose from the table.
"Has young fella with her too," Nora added darkly as Kitty followed her into the hall.
"Missus M! Thank the blinkin' Lord we found yer!"
Sarah, if she had been thin before, now resembled a ghost of her former self. She launched herself into Kitty's arms. "Oh, Missus M . . ."
Then Kitty's gaze fell on Eddie, who had been hiding behind Sarah, his eyes round as saucers as he stared up at the chandelier that hung in the center of the high vaulted ceiling.
"Goodness, what on earth has happened?" She drew Eddie to her, with Sarah still attached to her. "Why don't we go and sit down and you can tell me all about it." She steered both children in the direction of the drawing room and sat them down on either side of her.
"Oh, Missus M, we've 'ad the most 'orrible time of it at the orphanage."
"Orphanage?" Kitty could see Sarah was near to tears.
"Yeah, 'cause it was all a lie, see? The others got taken by families but me an' Eddie, there weren't no one waiting for us. We was taken with a load of other kids to this 'ome run by nuns."
"Are you hungry?" Kitty asked.
"We're blinkin' starvin', Missus M!"
Kitty rang the bell for Nora and asked her to plate up some bread and cold meats for her guests. After Kitty had watched the two of them stuff the food into their mouths as though they were famished scavengers, she asked Sarah to tell her slowly what had happened.
The tale of woe at the St. Vincent de Paul orphanage spilled out of Sarah's mouth. "They worked us like slaves, Missus M, and if we refused, we'd get beatings, or we'd 'ave to stand still for hours and no one were allowed to speak to us. They wouldn't even let us get out of bed to go to the toilet after lights-out. Little Eddie 'ad no choice, 'e 'ad to wet the bed—all the little ones did—and then they'd get beaten for it. All of us old enough to carry a mop and bucket 'ad to be up before the crack o' dawn to start scrubbing, and all we got to eat was stale bread." Sarah took a moment to breathe, her face pinched with fury. "And the worst of it was, Missus M, those nuns, they called 'emselves Sisters of Mercy, but they 'ad none. One of 'em—Sister Mary—would pick on one of the little girls every night, and take 'er to a room, and . . . oh, Missus M, I can't even say it!" Sarah covered her face with her hands.
With each word she uttered, Kitty's horror grew. "Where exactly is this place?"
"It's in Goodwood. We took a few wrong turns getting 'ere to you, but I'd reckon only 'alf an hour's straight walk away. If you can't 'ave us 'ere, we understand, but neither of us are going back there. Ever," Sarah added firmly.
Kitty turned to see Eddie, whose head was nestled in the crook of her arm. He was fast asleep.
"I think it's high time the two of you were in bed, don't you?"
"You mean we can stay? Just for the night, o' course, but please, Missus M, don't tell no one we're 'ere if they come callin'. The nun said we'd end up in prison if we was to run away." Sarah yawned then, her tiny heart-shaped face almost disappearing behind her mouth.
"I won't call the police, Sarah, I promise. Come now, let's get you both to bed. We will talk in the morning."
Carrying Eddie up the stairs, Kitty took them to the old nursery that still contained the twin beds that Drummond and Andrew had slept in as children. Laying Eddie on one bed fully clothed and tucking a sheet across him, she indicated Sarah should sleep in the other.
"Thank you, Missus M, I'll never forget what you've done for us tonight. Ever," Sarah murmured as her eyes drew shut.
"Dear child," Kitty whispered as she closed the door behind her. "I can never have done enough."
"I can hardly believe it," said Ruth, Ralph's wife, the following afternoon, as they sat drinking lemonade on the terrace, watching Eddie play with Tinky, the King Charles spaniel. "Are you sure that this girl isn't exaggerating?"
"Quite sure. I spent a lot of time with her on my voyage over here, and I believe every word she says."
"But they're nuns . . . women who have pledged their lives to do God's work."
"In my experience, pledging one's life to God does not necessarily mean that one acts in His name," Kitty replied with feeling, as she watched Eddie reaching out to try to catch a butterfly.
"What will you do with them?" Ruth asked.
"I haven't decided yet. I certainly won't be sending them back whence they came," Kitty said as they watched Eddie run around the garden after the butterfly. His laughter stopped abruptly as he tripped over a patch of stony ground and fell.
Before he'd had time to utter a cry of pain, Ruth was on her feet and running toward him, her arms around him as she took him on her knee. The child buried his face in her chest as she murmured words of comfort. An idea began to form in Kitty's mind.
" 'Ere, Missus M, I made this for you to say thank you."
Sarah shyly handed Kitty a square of material, one edge embroidered with her initials, woven into an intricate design of pink climbing roses.
"It's beautiful, Sarah, thank you. You're a very talented young lady."
"That's not what Sister Agnes used to tell me," Sarah snorted. "She said I were a wretch of the earth, along wi' the rest o' us."
"I can assure you that you're not, Sarah," Kitty replied firmly.
"I was 'oping I could go into town today and find a job at a dressmaker's. Earn some money to support me an' Eddie. Do you know of any?"
"Perhaps, Sarah, but I think you're rather young to be in full-time employment."
"I'm not afraid of hard work, Missus M."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I wanted to ask whether you were willing to help me for a while. I have many things to organize before I leave for Europe and I'm due to take a trip up to the north of Australia. As Nora is needed here, I shall require someone to assist me with my clothes and what you will. Be warned, mind you, that it's a long journey, first by train, then by pony and cart."
"Oh, Missus M, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, I really would. Are you serious?"
"I am never anything but, Sarah, I can assure you."
"Then I would love to, Missus M. But . . ." Sarah's face fell. "What about Eddie? 'E's not made of strong stuff like me. I'm not sure 'e'd be able to come with us."
Kitty tapped her nose and smiled. "You leave Eddie to me."
"I was wondering, Kitty, given that you are away with Ralph for the next few weeks, if you've decided what you're going to do with Eddie?" Ruth gazed down fondly at him sitting next to her, utterly enthralled by the jigsaw puzzle she'd brought for him.
"Do you know, Ruth, you've just read my mind, because I am really not at all sure what I will do," said Kitty. "I wouldn't like to return him to the orphanage . . ."
"No, you certainly must not! I was talking to Ralph only last night and we thought it would be a good idea for him to stay with us while you are both away."
"Goodness! What a clever idea! But what about the imposition on you?"
"It would be no imposition at all. He's a dear child, and I really feel he's beginning to trust me." Ruth's eyes filled with tenderness as Eddie nudged her to show her the completed jigsaw.
"Yes, I believe he is. Well now, if you're sure . . ."
"Perfectly. It would be good to have a man about the house to protect me while Ralph's away up north with you." Ruth smiled.
"If Eddie's happy, then so am I."
"What do you think, Eddie?" Ruth touched the little boy's arm. "Would you like to come and live at my house for a while?"
"Yes please!" Eddie said as he reached for Ruth and she pulled him closer to her.
"Well now, I think that's the decision taken," Kitty managed to say through the lump that had appeared in her throat.
It was the first time she had ever heard Eddie speak.
## 31
Five days later, Kitty and Sarah left Adelaide with Ralph at the break of dawn to travel to Port Augusta, where they boarded the Ghan train, their luggage neatly stowed in their sleepers by the porters. Over the three-day journey, they settled into a calm routine, accompanied by the rhythmic chug of the train as it pulled them through the increasingly rugged and empty red desert. Kitty was happy to have Sarah with her, not only for her practical nature, but also for her enthusiasm—her constant delight at every turn of the journey helped Kitty to see the landscape through fresh eyes.
They spent the long afternoons in the observation car, Sarah's face glued to the window as she announced each new sight and sound to her mistress.
"Camels!" she gasped, pointing to a line of them snaking through the landscape.
"Yes, the steward mentioned they're most likely traveling to meet the train at the next station," said Ralph without glancing up from his papers. And sure enough, when they stopped at Oodnadatta, Sarah watched with rapt attention as the Afghan cameleers, dressed in their white turbans and flowing robes, collected supplies from the train and packed them onto their own stalwart and elegant chauffeurs of the desert.
With Sarah by her side, Kitty too watched the changing scenery of red mountains, shining white salt flats, and azure rivers, marveling that, after all these decades in Australia, its interior had passed her by.
They arrived in Alice Springs onto a packed platform, where it seemed as if the entire town had turned out to greet the train. They squeezed through the clamoring crowd and Ralph organized a pony and cart to take them to the main street of the town.
They were deposited in front of what proudly named itself the Springs Hotel. With their driver bringing up the rear carrying their cases, they stepped into a dark and dusty reception area.
"Not quite what you're used to, is it, Missus M?" Sarah whispered into her ear as Ralph asked if the proprietor, Mrs. Randall—a grizzled woman who looked as though she bathed in gin regularly—had any spare rooms. She did, and they were each given a key.
"Privy's out the back, an' there's a water barrel for washing in."
"Thank you," Kitty said, nodding at the woman as Sarah pulled a face to show what she thought of the sanitary arrangements.
"Blimey, even the orphanage 'ad an inside privy," she whispered.
"I'm sure we'll survive," said Kitty as they made their way up the wooden stairs.
All three of them were exhausted that night and ate dinner early in the tiny downstairs parlor.
"Mrs. Randall says that Kilgarra cattle station is two days' ride away. So I'll set about finding someone to take me there. Will you be accompanying me?" asked Ralph.
"No," Kitty said firmly. "We only have ten days here and I wish to see Ayers Rock. I'm sure you'll be able to report back to me on the situation, Ralph. Now, I think I will retire for the night. The journey here has quite exhausted me."
Upstairs in her basic room, she lay on the hard horsehair mattress and gazed through the pane of glass that wore its outer dust as a second skin. She knew Drummond wouldn't be at the cattle station—he couldn't have risked being recognized. Yet however much logic told her he could be anywhere in this vast landscape, being here in the outback made him feel close, somehow.
This is his place, his land . . .
"Kitty," she spoke fiercely to herself, "you have just officially had him declared dead. Besides, he is almost certainly no more than bones by now . . ."
With this stern talking-to administered, Kitty rolled over and fell asleep.
Outside the hotel the following morning Ralph looked more than a little nervous as he sat on a cart next to his Aboriginal driver.
"This'll be an adventure to tell Ruth and Eddie about, won't it?" he said, giving Kitty and Sarah a strained smile. "God willing, I'll see you both at the end of the week. Right, let's be on our way."
The driver gave the pony a tap and the cart rumbled off down the dusty street.
"Rather 'im than me, Missus M. Blimey, it's 'ot!" Sarah fanned herself. "I were thinking I should go to the draper's across the road and see if I can buy some material to make us a couple o' sunbonnets, with netting across 'em to keep these blinkin' flies out o' me face." Sarah swatted one that had landed on her cheek.
"Good idea," Kitty agreed. "I suggest we spend the day here in town and travel to Ayers Rock tomorrow."
"Right you are, Missus M. When I come back, I'll do me best to wash your smalls in that barrel outside."
Having given Sarah some coins from her purse, she watched the girl disappear into the crowded street. It was bustling with a mixture of white and Aboriginal people, the road busy with men on horseback, ponies and carts, and the odd car. The scene took her back to her early days in Broome—a multicultural mix of humanity, determined to make its way in a harsh, unforgiving environment.
Having eaten lunch and unused these days to the sweltering heat, Kitty went back inside the hotel and took refuge under the ceiling fan above her bed. As dusk fell and the heat of the day abated, she decided she would take a walk outside or she would never sleep tonight. Arriving downstairs in the tiny reception, Mrs. Randall looked up from a man she was talking to over the counter.
"Good evening, Mrs. Mercer. Marshall says he'll be here bright and early to take you out ta the rock. Best if you travel before the sun's up, so he suggests four o'clock tomorrow morning. That all right with you?"
"Thank you. That will be perfect."
Kitty had just turned the door handle when Mrs. Randall added, "Just the two of you for supper tonight, is it? Maybe Mr. D here can join you."
"I—"
The man had turned around and was now staring straight at her, his blue eyes wide in his nut-brown skin above a fuzz of gray beard.
Kitty clutched the front door for support, her gaze unable to leave his.
"O' course, if you would prefer to eat separately, I can arrange it." Mrs. Randall looked bemused as her two guests continued to stare at each other.
"It's up to the lady," he said eventually.
Kitty tried to form a reply, but her brain was simply scrambled.
"Are you all right, Mrs. Mercer, love? You've gone ever such a funny color, you have."
"Yes . . ." She tried hard to release her hand from the doorknob, but knew she might well fall over if she did. With an almighty effort, she turned it to pull the door open. "I'm going out."
In the street, Kitty turned blindly and began to walk briskly away from the hotel.
It cannot be . . . it just cannot be . . .
"Kitty!"
At the sound of his voice behind her, her legs broke into a run. She turned down a narrow lane, not caring where she was going as long as he couldn't catch her.
"For God's sake! I could outrun you by hopping!"
"Damn you! Damn you to hell!" she swore as her chest tightened. She slowed as purple patches began to appear in front of her eyes and a firm hand gripped her arm. On the verge of fainting, she bent over, panting like an asthmatic dog and having no choice but to let him take her weight.
"Sit down. I'll go and get you some water." He gently eased her down onto a doorstep. "Wait there, I'll be back."
"I don't want you back . . . Go away, go away . . . ," Kitty moaned as she bent her head between her knees and tried to hold on to consciousness.
"Here, drink this."
With her eyes closed, she smelled the whiskey before she saw it.
"NO!" She swiped at the tin mug, which went sailing through the air, then bounced and rolled across the ground, spilling its contents. "How dare you!"
"How dare I what?"
"Bring me liquor! I need water!"
"I have that here too."
Kitty grabbed the flask he offered her and gulped the water down. She took some deep breaths while fanning herself with her bonnet, and her senses slowly returned to her.
"What are you doing here?" she gasped.
"I've been coming here for almost forty years. I rather think it's me that should ask you that question."
"I hardly think it's any of your business . . ."
"You are right as always, but I will warn you that our theatrics along the main street of Alice Springs will soon be everyone else's business. Could I suggest that we continue this conversation somewhere more private?"
"You will escort me back to the hotel," she said, allowing him to pull her to standing and feeling a number of eyes upon them. "And then you will leave."
"Hah! You've arrived on my patch. You're the one who should leave."
"We'll see about that," she retorted.
They said no more until they reached the hotel. He paused on the doorstep and turned to her.
"I suggest that for the sake of form, we take dinner together tonight. We happen to be sharing a roof under the watchful eye of the town gossip." He indicated Mrs. Randall, standing behind her reception desk and peering at them through the dust-coated pane of glass in the front door. "And later, when she is asleep, which is usually around nine thirty after a few bottles of grog, we will talk."
"Agreed," Kitty said as he moved to open the door.
"Everything all right, ducky?" Mrs. Randall asked her as they walked into reception.
"Yes, thank you. It must have been the heat of the day affecting me."
"For sure, dearie, it gets to all of us, don't it, Mr. D?" Mrs. Randall winked at him.
"It certainly does, Mrs. R."
"So have we decided if we're eating together?" Mrs. Randall queried.
"Of course," he answered. "Mrs. Mercer and I met many years ago. Her husband was a . . . close friend of mine. It will be a pleasure to catch up on old times, won't it, Mrs. Mercer?"
Kitty could see that at least part of him was finding this charade funny. Before she put her hands around his neck, she managed a strangled "Yes," then walked as calmly as she could up the stairs to her room.
"Good God!" she exhaled as she slammed the door, then locked it behind her for good measure. She lay down on her bed to try to still her banging heart.
You loved him once . . .
Kitty rose a few minutes later, and prowled the room like a trapped animal. She studied her face in the small looking glass, which had beveled black lines that crisscrossed it and marred her reflection.
She gave a small chuckle that fate should bring her here to a place where there was barely a feminine comfort to make herself smell nice or to look better for him. Even though, of course, she didn't want to and it shouldn't matter . . . Deriding herself for her vanity, but nevertheless, fetching Sarah from the room next door, she asked her to take out her favorite cornflower-blue muslin blouse, and do something with her mane of graying auburn hair, which had become as unruly as a spoiled child and was hanging in an unwashed mass of curls about her face.
"I think it suits you down, Missus M," commented Sarah as she attempted to twist it into combs. "Makes you look years younger."
"We're eating with a very old friend of my husband's," announced Kitty as she added a little lipstick to make her mouth seem fuller. Then, as it began to bleed into the lines that led from her lips, she rubbed it off harshly.
"Missus Randall mentioned there was a gentleman who'd be eating with us tonight. Didn't realize 'e was an old friend of yours. What's 'is name?"
Kitty swallowed hard. "Everyone here calls him Mr. D."
He was waiting for them in the parlor, and Kitty could tell from his clean skin and freshly shaved face that he too had made an effort to smarten himself up.
"Mrs. Mercer." He stood, then bent to kiss her hand. "What a coincidence this is."
"Indeed."
"And who is this?" His attention turned to Sarah.
"This is Sarah. I met her aboard ship on my journey back to Australia a few months ago. She is my lady's maid."
" 'Ow do you do, sir?" Sarah dipped an unnecessary curtsy.
"Very well indeed, thank you. Shall we sit down?" he suggested.
As they did so, he reached to whisper in Kitty's ear. "You really do excel at collecting waifs and strays."
Over the rather good stew, which they were informed by "Mr. D" was kangaroo, Kitty sat back and watched as Drummond charmed Sarah. She herself was happy for another person to be present, which removed the attention from her. Her stomach was so tight that every swallow made her feel as though she would burst.
"So, where do you go from here?" he asked Sarah.
"We're off to see some big rock in the center of the desert tomorrow," Sarah informed him blithely, taking another slug of the ale Drummond had insisted she try. "Missus M wants to see it for some reason. It seems a long way to go to see a bit o' stone, if yer know wot I mean."
"I do, but trust me, once you get there, you'll understand. It's special."
"Well, if we're up at four, I'm off to me bed. What about you, Missus M?"
"She'll be up after a coffee, won't you, Mrs. Mercer?" Drummond eyed her.
"All right." Sarah gave one of her enormous yawns, and rose from the table. "See you bright and early tomorrow morning."
Kitty watched as she tottered unsteadily out of the parlor.
"Is it a habit of yours to get young women tipsy? Sarah is not yet sixteen!" she whispered.
Drummond raised his glass of ale. "To you, Kitty. I swear you haven't changed one jot since the first moment I laid eyes on you. What is it, I've often wondered, that makes you quite so angry?"
Kitty shook her head, hating how, after all these years, Drummond could reduce her to a mass of seething insecurity and fury. Again, she had a desperate urge to slap him.
"How dare you speak to me like that!"
"Like what? You mean, not like the rest of your lackeys who bow and scrape at the feet of the famous Kitty Mercer, who suffered such a huge family tragedy, but against all odds rose to be the most powerful pearling mistress in Broome? Respected and revered by all, despite the fact that her success has stripped any form of love from her life?"
"Enough!" Kitty rose instinctively from her chair, not wishing to give Mrs. Randall further gossip to spread about town and knowing she was about to explode. "I will say good night." She walked toward the door.
"I'm impressed at your self-control. I was expecting a punch at any second."
Kitty sighed deeply, too weary and confused to fight any longer. "Good night, Drummond." She walked up the stairs to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Stripping off her cornflower-blue blouse, and berating herself for ever thinking to wear it in the first place, she climbed into bed. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she cried.
Just as she was calming down and thinking that she might actually doze off, there was a timid knock on her door. She sat up, fully awake.
"Who is it?"
"Me," a whisper came through the wood.
Kitty darted out of bed, not sure whether she had locked the door behind her when she had come in. The answer stood in front of her as Drummond entered, looking as wretched as she felt.
"Forgive me, Kitty." He closed the door behind him and locked it firmly. "I came to apologize. I don't behave like such a pig around anyone else. It was a shock to see you. I . . . didn't—don't," he corrected himself, "know how to handle this."
"That makes two of us. And you're right, this is your patch. It is I who should leave. I shall go to Ayers Rock tomorrow, then make plans to return to Adelaide as soon as possible."
"Really, there is no need to do that."
"I'm afraid there is. Good Lord, if anyone recognizes me, or us together . . . I just received Andrew's death certificate before I left."
"So, you have finally killed me off. Well now, there's a thing." Eventually he roused himself, looked at her, and gave her a weak smile. "No matter, Kitty. Around here I'm simply known as Mr. D: a drover who never stays in one place for longer than a few weeks. I've heard it whispered that I'm an ex-convict, escaped from Fremantle Jail."
"You could certainly be taken for one." Kitty eyed his still-thick mass of dark hair, turned gray in parts; the rugged face lined more by the sun than age; and the broadness of his chest complemented by thick, muscled arms.
"Now, now, let's not start trading insults again." He gave her a half smile. "I shall begin our new détente by telling you that you look hardly a day older than you did. You are still beautiful."
Kitty touched her graying hair self-consciously. "I know you're being kind, but I appreciate the gesture."
A silence hung between them as a lifetime of memories flashed before their eyes.
"So here we are," Drummond said eventually.
"Yes, here we are," she echoed.
"And I must tell you, in case I don't get another chance, that there has not been a day in almost forty years when I have not thought about you."
"In anger, probably." Kitty gave him a wry smile.
"Yes," he chuckled, "but only in connection with my own impetuous behavior, which has rendered my life since nothing but a hollow sham."
"You look very well on it, I must say. I can hardly believe that you are over sixty."
"My body knows it," he sighed. "These days I am beset with the vagaries of age. My back aches like the dickens after a night out on the ground, and my knees creak every time I climb onto my nag. This is a life for a young man, Kitty, and I'm not that any longer."
"What will you do?"
"I have absolutely no idea. What do clapped-out drovers do in their old age? Come to think of it, I hardly know a single one. We've normally all copped it by fifty. Been bitten by a snake, died of dysentery, or ended up on the end of a black man's spear. I've had the luck of the nine blind, in that regard anyway. Perhaps it's because I gave up caring if I lived or died after I last saw you, so the old bugger upstairs has kept me alive to punish me. Well." He slapped his thighs. "There we go. How about you?"
"I'm leaving Australia for good after I return to Adelaide."
"Where are you going?"
"Home, or at least, to Europe. I've bought an apartment in Italy. Like you, I feel Australia is a young man's—or woman's—game."
"Ah, Kitty, how did we grow so old?" Drummond shook his head. "I still remember you at eighteen, singing at the top of your voice in the Edinburgh Castle Hotel, as drunk as you like."
"And whose fault was that?" She eyed him.
"Mine, of course. How is Charlie? I know a fellow from the mission at Hermannsburg who said he'd been to school with him and hoped he'd come to visit him one day."
"You must be talking about Ted Strehlow."
"I am. The fella is mad as a cobra with a migraine, but I meet him occasionally on his travels in the outback. He's a self-fashioned anthropologist, studying Aboriginal culture."
"Yes, I met him once in Adelaide. Sadly, you cannot have seen Mr. Strehlow recently. Charlie died seven years ago in the Japanese attack on Roebuck Bay."
"Kitty, I didn't know!" Drummond walked toward her and sat down on the bed next to her. "Good God, I didn't know. Forgive me for my insensitivity."
"So"—Kitty was determined not to cry—"I have nothing to keep me here in Australia, which is why I'm going home." After a pause, she looked at him. "It's so very wrong, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"That you and I should still be sitting here on the earth, while my boy—and so many others we loved—are no longer with us."
"Yes." His hand reached to cover hers.
Kitty felt its warmth traveling through her skin and realized his was the last male hand that had touched her in such a gesture for almost forty years. She wound her own hand around it.
"You never remarried?" he probed.
"No."
"Surely there were plenty of suitors?"
"Some, yes, but as you can imagine, they were all fortune hunters. You?"
"Good God, no! Who would have me?"
Another long silence hung between them as they sat there, hands clasped, each contemplating the secrets they kept from each other, but cherishing the moment they were sharing.
"I really must retire, or I'll be good for nothing in the morning," Kitty said eventually. Yet her body made no move to release his hand from hers. "Do you remember Alkina?" she asked into the silence.
"I do."
"She disappeared the night before Charlie's twenty-first birthday. And then Camira did the same a few months later when I was away in Europe."
"Really?"
"Yes. Fred left too after that. He went walkabout and never returned. And I haven't had sight nor sound of any of them since. I must have done something very bad in my life. Everyone I love leaves me."
"I didn't. You sent me away, remember?"
"Drummond, you know that I had no choice. I—"
"Yes, and I will regret my actions until my dying day. Rest assured I've had long enough to do that already."
"We were both culpable, Drummond, make no mistake."
"It was good to feel alive, though, wasn't it?"
"It was, yes."
"Those memories have kept me going on many a long, cold night out in the Never Never. Kitty . . ."
"Yes?"
"I have to ask this." Drummond ran a hand through his hair, uncharacteristically nervous. "I . . . heard rumors that you were with child after I left."
"I . . . How did you know?"
"You know how news travels in the outback. Kitty, was the baby mine?"
"Yes." The word came out in an enormous bubble of released tension, as Kitty finally voiced the secret she'd kept for all these years.
"There is no doubt?"
"None. I had . . . bled after Andrew left." A faint blush rose to Kitty's cheeks. "Before you and I were—"
"Yes. So." Drummond swallowed hard. "What happened to our baby?"
"I lost him. For seven months, I felt him inside me, a part of you, a part of us, but I went into labor early and he was stillborn."
"It was a boy?"
"Yes. I called him Stefan, after your father. I felt that was right under the circumstances. He's buried in Broome cemetery."
Kitty sobbed then. Huge, gulping, ugly tears as her body expressed all that she'd held inside her for so long. To the only other person on the earth who could possibly understand. "Our baby son and Charlie, both gone to ashes. Good grief! Sometimes the days have seemed so dark I've wondered what the point of it all is." Kitty used the bedsheet to wipe her eyes. "There now, I'm being self-indulgent and I have no right to be living when my two sons are dead."
"My God, Kitty . . ." Drummond put his arm around her trembling shoulder. "What havoc love can wreak on us sad humans."
"A little love," Kitty murmured, her head lying against his chest, "and it destroyed us both."
"You must take comfort from the fact that nothing in life is quite that simple. If Andrew had not sent me to collect the Roseate Pearl, it would be him that had returned to you alive, and me lying at the bottom of the ocean. We must try to be responsible for our own actions, but we cannot be responsible for the actions of others. They have an insidious way of wrapping like bindweed around our own destinies. Nothing on earth is separate from the other."
"That's awfully profound," whispered Kitty with the ghost of a smile.
"And thankfully, I believe it to be true. It is all that has kept me from throwing myself off the top of Ayers Rock."
"But where has it left us? Neither of us have family to pass any of our wisdom on to. For the Mercers, it is the end of the line."
There was a long pause before he replied. "Kitty, I beg you to trust me one last time. There is somewhere I should take you before you leave. You must come with me tomorrow."
"No, Drummond, I have spent the last forty years of my life wishing to go to Ayers Rock and I will do so in a few hours' time. Nothing can dissuade me."
"What if I swear I'll take you there the day after? Besides, it will mean you don't have to rise until eight, given it is already past one in the morning. I beseech you, Kitty. You must come."
"Please, Drummond, swear to me it is not simply a wild goose chase?"
"It is not, but equally, we must go as soon as we can. Before it's too late."
Kitty looked at his grave expression. "Where are we going?"
"To Hermannsburg. There is someone you need to see."
## 32
Missus M! It's past eight o'clock! Wasn't we meant to get up at four? You said you'd come and wake me."
Kitty stirred, seeing Sarah's anxious face hovering above her.
"There's been a change of plan," she said hoarsely as she came to. "Mr. D is driving us out to Hermannsburg today."
"That's good then, is it?" Sarah waited for confirmation.
"Yes, it is."
"What is Hermannsburg?" Sarah asked as she folded the clothes that Kitty had dropped on the floor last night.
"It's a Christian mission. Mr. D felt it would be too hot to take the trip out to Ayers Rock today. He says Hermannsburg is far closer."
"I don't like God-botherers," said Sarah. "They used to tell us stories of the little Lord Jesus at the orphanage, said that we should pray to him for our salvation. All I could think was that he didn't last that long, did 'e, miss? For all that he was the son of God." Sarah stood at the end of the bed with her hands on her hips. "What time are we leaving?"
"At nine o'clock."
"Then I'll go and get you a fresh basin of water so as you can have a good wash before we leave, 'cause the Lord knows when we'll get another. I like your friend, by the way. It's good we have someone protecting us out 'ere, isn't it?"
"Yes." Kitty suppressed a smile.
"D'you think he'd let me steer the cart for a bit? I've always loved 'orses, ever since the rag an' bone man came around to me auntie's and 'e gave me a ride."
"I'm sure that could be arranged," Kitty said, and fell back onto her pillow as Sarah left the room.
"What am I doing?" she moaned as the events of only a few hours ago came back to her.
You're living, Kitty, for the first time in years . . .
Downstairs, she forced down a breakfast of bread and strong coffee as Sarah chatted away opposite her.
"Mr. D said he'll meet us outside when we've finished breakfast. We're to take a change of clothes each because of the dust, but he's seeing to the supplies. I'm glad 'e's coming, Missus M, 'e looks like a man who knows 'is way around. It's a bit like the Wild West out here, in't it? I once saw a flick that showed horses galloping across the desert. Never thought I'd see it for meself."
Outside, Drummond waited with a pony and cart, and the two women clambered up onto the board bench. Kitty mentioned that Sarah wished to drive the pony at some point and put her firmly between them.
"Right. Off we go." Drummond gently snicked the pony's back and they trotted off along the high street.
Kitty was only too happy to let Drummond regale Sarah with his adventures in the outback. She took in the scenery, which, as they headed out of the town, became a vibrant red, the mountain range a hazy violet behind it. Sarah constantly questioned him, and he patiently pointed out the varieties of shrubs, trees, and animals as she sucked up information like spinifex sucking up water during a drought.
"And that over there is a ghost gum." Drummond indicated a white-barked tree in the distance. "It's sacred to the Aboriginals, and you can use the bark to treat colds . . ."
As the sun beat down, Kitty was glad of her cotton bonnet with its net veil, and eventually the rhythmic clopping of the pony's sure footsteps lulled her into a doze.
"Turn left here."
She was pulled back to consciousness by Drummond's voice.
"No, left, Sarah."
The pony lurched and Kitty roused herself to see Sarah steering the cart into a drive, beyond which stood a number of whitewashed buildings.
"Welcome to Hermannsburg, sleepyhead." Drummond grinned as he offered his hand to help her down. "Your Sarah has the makings of a fine horsewoman. You didn't even stir when I handed the reins to her."
"Oh! An' I loved it, Missus M! Wish I could sit on his back." Sarah looked plaintively up at Drummond.
"There's plenty of horses here, I'm sure someone will give you a trot around before we leave. Now, let's see if the pastor is about."
Drummond led them past a cluster of huts toward a central area which was humming with life. Most of the faces were Aboriginal, the girls of assorted ages all dressed in white, which Kitty found rather ridiculous given the red dust that had already blown up onto her own clothes. There were men sitting outside a big open shed, stretching large swaths of beige cowhide and hanging them up to dry in the sun.
"That's the tannery; the mission sells the leather on. There's the schoolhouse, the cookhouse, the chapel . . ."
"Goodness, it's a village!" Kitty followed his pointed finger around the huts, hearing the sweet sound of young voices singing a hymn inside the chapel.
"It is indeed. And a lifeline for the local Arrernte people."
"Those children," Kitty said, pointing at a group of little ones being led from the schoolroom. "Have they been brought here against their mothers' will because they are half castes?"
"No. The Protectorate is not welcome here. These people come of their own free will to learn about Jesus, but, more important, to get a good meal inside their bellies," Drummond replied with a chuckle. "Many of them have been here for years. The pastor allows them to practice their own culture alongside Christianity."
As she heard the sound of the children's laughter, Kitty was filled with emotion. "It's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen: two cultures working in harmony together. Perhaps there's hope for Australia after all."
"Yes. And look who it is over there." Drummond indicated a tall, bulky man lugging a table into a hut. "Hermannsburg's most famous son, Albert Namatjira. We're lucky to catch him. He's often out walkabout painting—but his daughter Hazel died here in childbirth some weeks ago, and he and his wife have decided to move into a hut inside the mission."
"That's Namatjira?" Kitty squinted her eyes against the sun, awed that the most famous Aboriginal artist in Australia was standing only a few feet away from her.
"It is. Interesting fella. If you're a good girl, I'll introduce you later on. Now, let's go and find the pastor."
They walked across to a low bungalow set apart from the others and Drummond knocked on the door. A short, broadly built white man opened the door and greeted them with a smile. Despite the heat, he was dressed in black robes and a white clerical collar, and a pair of round rimless glasses rested on his large nose.
"Mr. D, what an unexpected pleasure," he said, thumping Drummond on the back heartily. He spoke English with a strong German accent.
"Pastor Albrecht, this is Mrs. Kitty Mercer from Adelaide and late of Broome," said Drummond. "She was very interested to see Hermannsburg for herself, having heard of it through her son, who was at school and university with Ted."
"Indeed?" Pastor Albrecht's eyes swept over Kitty as if he was assessing her for a place in the kingdom of heaven. "I'm afraid Ted is not here. He is currently based in Canberra working on a research project at the university, but it is my pleasure to welcome you, Mrs. Mercer. And the young lady?"
"This is Sarah, a friend of Mrs. Mercer's," Drummond replied.
"How d'you do, yer honor." Sarah, looking nervously at the clerical robes, dipped a curtsy.
"Are you thirsty? My wife has just made a jug of quandong cordial." Albrecht, walking with a slight limp, led them through to a small sitting room, its Edwardian furniture looking out of place in the simple hut. Once they had all been handed a glass of sweet pink cordial, they sat down.
"So, how have things been here since my last visit?" Drummond asked.
"The usual ups and downs," said the pastor. "Thank the Lord that we have not had another drought, but Albert has had his problems, as you know. There was also a break-in some weeks ago. The robbers took everything from the safe, and I'm afraid to say that the tin box you gave me all those years ago when you brought Francis went with them. I do hope there was nothing particularly valuable in it. Francis told me his grandmother was relieved, for some reason."
Kitty watched Drummond blanch. "No, it was nothing of value," he said lightly.
"Well, you may be pleased to hear that justice was done. It was a couple of cattle rustlers who'd been robbing the safes of stations around here. They were found shot dead near Haasts Bluff. Whoever killed them made off with the stolen goods. My apologies, Mr. D."
"So, the curse continues . . . ," Drummond murmured.
There was a knock on the door. A young woman popped her head around it, and spoke in German to the pastor.
"Ah, the choir is about to sing!" said Albrecht. "Yes, we will take a walk across, thank you, Mary. And could you also find Francis for me? He was helping Albert move his furniture in earlier."
"Of course," Drummond said, smiling, "where else would Francis be?"
As the four of them walked across the courtyard toward the chapel, Drummond held the pastor back and the two men talked in low voices behind Kitty and Sarah. When they arrived on the doorstep of the chapel, Kitty noted Drummond's grave expression.
"Please." The pastor indicated a rough wooden pew at the back of the church and the four of them sat down. The chapel was basic, its only decoration a large painting of Christ on the cross. Standing in front of it were perhaps thirty immaculately dressed young girls and boys, their faces eager with expectation as they waited for their pastor to indicate they should begin.
Kitty closed her eyes as the beautiful tune of "Abide with Me" was sung in German by the Aboriginal choir. At the end, the four of them clapped enthusiastically.
"I'm not one for hymns meself, but that singing were lovely, Missus M, even if I couldn't understand a word they were saying," said Sarah.
"Danke schön, Mary, Kinder." The pastor stood up and the three of them followed suit. Kitty saw that an old woman in a wooden wheelchair had been pushed to the back of the chapel by a gray-haired man. With them was a breathtakingly handsome young man, his hair a rich mahogany, his skin the color of butterscotch, and with enormous eyes that, as Kitty drew closer, she saw were a startling and unusual blue, with flecks of amber in the irises. They were not, however, looking at her, but fixed on Sarah next to her. Sarah was staring back just as blatantly.
"What a beautiful young man," murmured Kitty as they waited for the choir to file out ahead of them.
"He is indeed. And a very talented artist too. Francis has followed Namatjira about like a puppy ever since he could toddle," Drummond said.
Kitty dragged her eyes away from Francis and glanced down at the woman in the wheelchair. The woman looked up at her and Kitty had to grasp the back of the pew to steady herself. Even though the woman was desperately thin, her skin streaked with lines of age, Kitty knew the face as well as her own.
"Good grief, it can't be!" she whispered to Drummond. Then she looked at the old man who had pushed the wheelchair in. "And that's Fred!"
"It is," he agreed, "but Camira is why I have brought you here. She doesn't have much time left. Go and say hello."
"Camira?" Kitty walked toward her, her legs trembling. "Is it really you?"
"Missus Kitty?" Camira whispered back, equally startled. Fred gawped at her from behind the wheelchair.
"Now, Francis, this is Sarah," said Drummond, watching emotion cross both women's features. "She has a passion for horses—would you take her and give her a riding lesson?"
"Of course, Mr. D." Francis spoke halting English, but his expression as he beckoned Sarah to follow him told everyone how much of a pleasure it would be.
"Mr. D and I have some business to conduct," Pastor Albrecht said. "Fred, why don't you join us? We shall leave you two ladies alone."
Once the men had gone, Kitty bent down and put her arms tenderly around her dearest friend.
"Where did you go? I missed you so terribly, I . . ."
"I missum you too, Missus Kitty, but things happen, don't they?"
Kitty released the emaciated body and took Camira's hand. "What 'things' happened?"
"First you tellum me how you here. Mister Drum come-a find you?"
"No, it seems I found him. Or we found each other."
Kitty explained how they'd met as swiftly as she could, desperate to know why Camira had left her all those years ago.
"See? Dem up in heaven wantum you two together."
"It's not like that. I leave permanently for Europe very soon," Kitty said hurriedly. "And no one must know the truth, Camira."
"Who here would I tellum?" Camira gave a hoarse laugh. "Whattum Mister Drum say to you?"
"Absolutely nothing—not even that you were here. Please, dearest Camira, tell me why you and Alkina left."
"Okay, but it longa story, Missus Kitty, so you sittum down and I tella to you."
Kitty did so. Between halting pauses for breath, Kitty learned the truth of her son's relationship with Camira's daughter.
"God, oh God." She buried her face in her hands. "Why on earth did they not come to me? I would have sanctioned their marriage."
"Yessum, but my daughter, she-a strong-willed woman. She not wanta live in whitefella world an' be treated like mangy dingo from street." Camira sighed. "She love Charlie, Missus Kitty, so much she leavem him. You understand?"
"I do, of course I do, but I could have announced their engagement and the whole town would have seen they had my backing."
There was a pause as Camira's eyes found the painting of Jesus at the front of the church. "Missus Kitty, there something else that made her run."
"What?"
Camira's expressive eyes begged Kitty to think, to say the words for her.
"No! You mean she was pregnant?"
"Yessum. Four months when she go walkabout."
"Did Charlie know?"
"Yessum, he know. He wanta go find her, beggum me to tell him where she go, but I do not know. After you went away to Europe, he feel he cannot leave. One night, I knowum she dead. Charlie and me, we cry together."
"Oh God, where did she die?"
"Out there, in Never Never." Camira rested her head on Kitty's arm. "Love, it causem the big trouble. Mister Drum, he come all the way to Broome to see me an' tell me 'bout it. An' I go with him here. Den Fred turnem up few month later." Camira rolled her eyes. "I smellum him before I see him."
"But if Alkina died, then why . . ."
"She die, yessum, but baby alive. Mister Drum, he find baby with Ghan camel men, an' bring him to Hermannsburg. He savem baby's life. He a miracle man." Camira nodded vehemently. "Ancestors helpum him find my grandson."
Kitty's head was spinning with what Camira was telling her. There were so many questions she wanted answers to, she hardly knew what to ask next.
"But how did he know the baby was Alkina's?"
"Thattum bad pearl. My daughter once see me check that it still buried where I leave it. She takem it to sell for money for her and baby. Mister Drum, he see bad pearl with baby and baby's eyes. Dey like his mum's. He comun see me an' bringum me here to care for baby."
"So you didn't tell Charlie that he was a father?" Kitty tried to control the anger rising inside her. "That my son's baby was alive? Good God, Camira, why did you not tell me?!"
"Maybe I makem mistake, but Charlie friend with Elise, an' I thinkum best he not know. He running big business, an' my daughter dead. How could he bringum up baby? You away in Europe. Yessum I hear later Charlie die too. So sad, but now they up there together with Ancestors. So, everything turnum out for best, yes?"
Camira's eyes begged Kitty to agree, but she stood up and began to pace up and down the narrow aisle of the chapel. "I really don't know just now, Camira. I feel as though I wasn't given any choice in the matter. I feel . . ." Kitty wrung her hands. "Totally deceived."
"Missus Kitty, we all lovem you, we wanta do best thing."
"How many wrong decisions come out of love . . . ," Kitty sighed. As she did her best to control herself in front of a woman she loved and who, from her obvious frailty, was facing her last few weeks on earth, another thought came to her.
"What happened to the baby?" she asked, bracing herself for more bad news.
Camira's features finally gathered themselves into a wide smile. "He sick as baby, but now he big, strong boy. I do-um best to bring him up good for both of us." She chuckled then. "Missus Kitty, you just met our grandson. His name Francis."
Drummond watched Kitty pushing Camira's wheelchair toward the stables, uncertain how she would have reacted to the news. He turned his head at the shrieks of laughter emanating from Sarah as she did her best to steer the reluctant horse around in a circle, with Francis holding the end of the rope below her.
"He keeps wanting to go straight ahead! Can we, please?"
"Only if I climb up with you," Francis called to her.
With the past and the present about to collide, Drummond pondered whether Sarah's words were an apt metaphor. So many humans wandered around in circles, wishing for a future they were too fearful to seize.
"Come on then! Jump aboard!" Sarah shouted.
Francis released the rope and swung his long body onto the horse behind her.
If nothing else, he knew those two would seize it.
"I tellum her, Mister Drum, I don't think she very happy," Camira murmured as Fred took the wheelchair from Kitty's shaking grasp. She greeted him, then stared at the young man on horseback.
"Maybe I diddum wrong thing," Camira continued as they watched Francis doing his best to impress a lady. With a hand tucked proprietorially around Sarah's waist, his strong thighs controlling the movements of the horse, he set it to a brisk canter. Expletives fell from Sarah's mouth, but the onlookers could all see their sheer joy in being alive, with their future ahead of them.
Kitty turned to Drummond and finally spoke. "I believe I am watching my grandson careen around a field with my lady's maid?"
"You are, yes. Are you angry?"
"When a decision is taken out of your hands—when one is left completely in the dark—of course there is anger."
"Forgive her, Kitty, Camira only did what she thought best at the time." Drummond braced himself for her verbal onslaught. Yet, as her gaze fell once more onto Francis and Sarah, Kitty was silent.
Eventually she said, "Thank you."
"What?"
"The polite response would be 'pardon me,' as you well know, but given that you apparently saved our grandson's life . . ." Kitty put her hand to Camira's shoulder. "I can overlook your appalling use of language just this once."
"Glad to hear it," he said and gave her a smile.
"I can see Charlie in him already," Kitty breathed, her blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "His energy, his kindness . . ." Then she lifted a palm to Drummond's cheek. "I have made so many mistakes in my life—"
"Hush, Kitty." Drummond caught her hand and kissed it. He pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you," he whispered. "I've never stopped."
"I fear I feel the same," she whispered back.
"It's time now, isn't it? For us."
"Yes," Kitty replied. "I rather believe it is."
Camira turned her head and watched as Mister D's arms encircled Kitty tenderly and held her close to him. She looked to the field where her grandson was whooping with joy as he let the girl take the reins of the horse, holding her safe to him as she cantered them around the field.
Camira closed her eyes and smiled.
"I diddum the best I could."
## CECE
Alice Springs, Northern Territory
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol for a resting place
## 33
So, that's the story of how I met my Sarah. It sounds rather ridiculous, but it really was love at first sight for both of us. You could say we rode off into the sunset that very first moment we met." Francis's eyes misted at the memory.
"She didn't go back to Adelaide with Kitty?"
"No. She stayed at Hermannsburg with me. They were glad to have her, what with her sewing skills." Francis indicated the embroidered cushion covers. "And her natural way with the young ones. She was born to be a mother. The irony was, it took us years to have our own child."
"My mother?" I whispered.
"Yes. Sadly, the doctors told us she was the only child we could have. We both adored her." Francis struggled to suppress a yawn. "Do excuse me, it's getting late."
Before he made a move to stand up, there was one more question I had to know the answer to before I could sleep. "What about Kitty and Drummond?"
"Now, there was a happy ending. He went with her when she left for Europe. God knows how he acquired a passport to do it, given he'd been declared officially dead, but knowing him, he probably paid for a forged one. You could do that kind of thing in the old days." Francis smiled. "They made their home in Florence, where no one knew their past, and lived happily together for the rest of their lives. Kitty never did get to Ayers Rock, mind you. She stayed on at Hermannsburg until just before my grandmother died."
"Did Kitty tell you that day that she was your grandmother too? And that Drummond was your great-uncle?"
"No, she left that to Camira, who told me the whole story on her deathbed a few days later. After they went to Italy, Drummond and Kitty kept in touch regularly with Sarah and me, and in 1978, when she herself died, Kitty left us her apartment in Florence. We sold the apartment and bought this place with the proceeds, with a view to retiring here. The Broome house Kitty had left in a trust for our daughter, along with her stocks and shares, which had grown over the years to a sizeable sum."
"What happened to Ralph Jr. and his family at Alicia Hall?" I queried.
"Dear Great-Uncle Ralph," said Francis with a smile. "He was a good man; trustworthy and steadfast to the last. His family always welcomed us at Alicia Hall on the rare occasions we traveled to Adelaide. Little Eddie did rather well for himself too. He blossomed under the tender care of Ruth and Ralph, and once he knew he was safe, he began to speak. Sarah, who kept in touch with him to her dying day, always said that he hadn't shut up since! He was as bright as a button and became a very successful barrister. He only retired last year. Perhaps one day, I could take you to visit him at Alicia Hall."
"Yeah, maybe. So . . ." I needed to ask the question. "Is my birth mum dead too?"
"She is, yes. I'm sorry, Celaeno."
"Well, I suppose you can't grieve for someone you've never known, can you?" I said eventually. "And my dad? Who was he?"
"He was called Toba and your mother met him while we were still living in Papunya, when she was just sixteen. Papunya was a village full of creative types, and a hub for the local Pintupi and Luritja Aboriginal communities. Your mother fell in love with him but he was an . . . unsuitable man. He was a talented Aboriginal painter, but far too keen on his grog and other women. When she announced she was pregnant with you, we"—Francis's fingers curled around each other in tension—"suggested that she shouldn't go through with the pregnancy. I'm sorry, Celaeno, but that's the truth of it."
I swallowed hard. "I understand. I really do. It was like your history playing out all over again."
"Of course, your mother refused to listen to us. If we wouldn't give permission for her to marry her lover, she threatened that they would elope. She always was impulsive, but I suppose that trait runs in the family." He gave me a wry smile. "Sadly, neither Sarah nor I thought she would go through with it, so we stood firm. A day later, the two of them left and"—his voice broke—"we never saw her again."
"That must've been really awful for you. Was there no way of finding her?"
"As you have already learned, it's quite easy to disappear here. But everyone was on the lookout for her, and for years Sarah and I trekked all over the outback following up on possible sightings. Then one day, we simply couldn't take it any longer, and decided to finally give up."
"I understand. Too much pain when the leads came to nothing."
"Exactly, but then when Sarah became seriously ill two years ago, she begged me to have another try, so I engaged a private detective. Six months after she died, I got a call telling me he'd found a woman in Broome who claimed she'd been present at your birth. I admit to not having been enthused with hope—I'd been up too many blind alleys before. But nevertheless, this woman knew your mother's name: Elizabeth, after Sarah's beloved English queen."
"Elizabeth . . ." I tried the name out loud for the first time.
"This woman had been a nurse at the hospital in Broome and I was able to see the date that Lizzie had arrived there in the hospital records, apparently in the throes of childbirth. The dates fitted exactly."
"Right. Did this woman mention my father?"
"She said that Lizzie had been alone. Remember I told you earlier that Kitty had left the Broome house to Lizzie? Your mother had visited it with us and probably thought it was the perfect love nest for her and her waster of a boyfriend. I can only assume that he dumped her somewhere between Papunya and Broome. In her condition, and given the rift at home, your mother probably felt she had no alternative but to continue to Broome alone."
"So what happened after she gave birth to me?"
Francis stood up, walked over to a bureau, and pulled out a file. "Here is your mother's death certificate. It's dated seven days after you were born. Lizzie had a severe postpartum infection. The nurse told me she just wasn't physically strong enough to fight it. Forgive me, Celaeno, there was no easy way to tell you this."
"It's okay," I murmured as I stared at the certificate. It was past two in the morning by now, and the words were a mass of jumping squiggles. "What about me?"
"Well, that's where the story gets a little better. The nurse told me that after your mother died, they kept you for as long as they could, hoping they could find a family who would adopt you. It was obvious when I spoke to her that the nurse had a fondness for you. She said you were a very pretty baby."
"Pretty?" I blurted out. "Me?"
"Apparently so," Francis said with a smile. "However, after a couple of months they had no choice but to make preparations to hand you over to a local orphanage. Sad to say, even twenty-seven years ago, there was no one who wanted to adopt a mixed-race baby. Just as the paperwork was being processed, she said that a gentleman in expensive clothes turned up at the hospital. From what she recalls, he'd come to Broome to look for a relative, but had found the house in question empty. A neighbor had informed him that the former owner had died, but there had been a young girl living there for a few weeks. The neighbor also told him the girl had been pregnant and he should try the hospital. When the nurse met the man and told him Lizzie had died and left you behind, he offered to adopt you on the spot."
"Pa Salt," I gasped. "What was he doing in Broome? Was he looking for Kitty?"
"The woman couldn't remember his name," said Francis, "but given the circumstances, she suggested he took you back to Europe with him and completed any adoption formalities there. The man left her the name of a lawyer in Switzerland." Francis rifled through the file. "A Mr. Georg Hoffman."
"Good old Georg," I said, disappointed that Pa had managed to hide his true identity yet again.
"It was Mr. Hoffman I wrote to when I was trying to trace you. I told him you'd been left a legacy—the money and property that Kitty had put in a trust for your mum, which was rightfully yours as Lizzie's daughter. Once the Broome house was sold, combined with the proceeds from the stocks and shares, it amounted to a healthy sum, as you know. Mr. Hoffman wrote back to confirm that his client had indeed adopted you, and that you were well. He promised any funds would be passed on to you directly. I directed the Adelaide solicitor to transfer the money and I also gave him a photograph of me with Namatjira, to be sent alongside the payment."
"Why not a photo of Sarah and Lizzie?"
"Celaeno, I didn't want to disturb your life if you didn't want to be found. By the same token, I knew that if you did want to find me here in Australia, it wouldn't be long until someone recognized Namatjira and his name on the car in the photograph, and pointed you in the direction of Hermannsburg." Francis gave a small smile of pleasure. "My plan worked!"
"It did, but I wasn't going to come at first, you know."
"I'd already decided that if you hadn't turned up within the year, I would contact Georg Hoffman and come and find you. You saved me and my old bones the trouble. Celaeno." He took my hands and held them. "It's been so much for you to take in, and a lot of it has been upsetting. Are you all right?"
"Yeah." I took a deep breath. "I'm glad I know everything now. It means I can return to London."
"Right."
I could see he thought I meant that I'd changed my mind. "Don't worry," I added quickly, "as I said earlier, it's only loose ends that need to be tied up before I move here permanently."
The grip on my hands tightened. "You're definitely coming to live in Australia?"
"Yeah, I mean, I reckon that you and me should stick together. We're the last of the Mercer line, aren't we? The survivors."
"Yes, we are. Although I never want you to feel that you owe me—or your past—anything, Celaeno. If you have a life back in London, don't do the wrong thing out of guilt. The past is gone. It's the future that matters."
"I know, but I belong here," I said, feeling more certain than I'd ever felt about anything in my life. "The past is who I am."
I woke up the next morning feeling like I had a really bad hangover—caused by information overload, not alcohol. I lay in the room with the pretty flowered curtains under the patchwork quilt that no doubt my grandmother Sarah had sewn over many a hot and sweaty night there in the Alice.
I closed my eyes then, thinking of my momentous decision of yesterday, and the weird dream I'd just had, and my hands tingled. It felt like all the angst and pain that had made me needed to be set free so it didn't poison me from within.
And I knew how to do it.
I got out of bed and pulled on one of my grandmother's blouses and a pair of her shorts that were flared at the bottom and made my legs look like two lamp stands that were too thick for the lampshades at the top of them.
Francis was eating breakfast in the kitchen at a table that was set for two.
"Do you by any chance have a spare canvas? Like, the biggest you've got?" I asked him.
"Of course. Follow me."
I was grateful he understood my urgency without explanation and I followed him to a greenhouse that he used as a storeroom. I set up my canvas and easel in a shady part of the back garden, and Francis lent me his special sable brushes. I selected the right size and began to mix the paints. As soon as the brush touched the canvas, that strange feeling that sometimes happened when I was painting came over me, and the next time I looked up, the canvas was full and the sky was dark.
"Celaeno, it's time for you to come inside," Francis called from the back door. "The mosquitoes will eat you alive out here."
"Don't look! It's not finished yet!" I made a pathetic attempt to cover the enormous canvas with my hands, although he'd probably seen it through the sitting room window already.
He walked across the lawn to put his arms around me and hug me tight. "It's a need, isn't it?"
"Absolutely," I said with a yawn. "I couldn't stop. This is for you, by the way."
"Thank you, I will treasure it."
I'd been sitting in the same spot for a very long time and my legs weren't working properly, so Francis helped me up and let me lean on him as if I were some old person.
"It's probably terrible," I said as I slumped exhausted into an armchair in the sitting room.
"Perhaps it is, but I already know where I'm going to hang it." He pointed to the space over the mantelpiece. "You need some food?" he asked me.
"I'm too tired to eat, but I could murder a cup of tea before I go to bed."
He brought it to me, then propped up my new canvas in front of the fireplace and sat down to study it.
"Have you decided what you will call it?"
"The Pearl Fishers," I said, surprising myself, as I was usually crap at choosing names. "It's about, well . . . our family. I had a dream I was in Broome, swimming in the sea. There were lots of us and we were all looking for a pearl and—"
"So is that a moon in the center?" Francis broke in as he studied the painting. "You know my mother was called Alkina, which means 'moon.' "
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," I mused, "but the white circle represents the beauty and power of female fertility and nature, the endless cycle of life and death. In other words, it's our family history."
"I love it," said Francis, studying the big, sweeping shapes of the sea below the moon, dotted with small, pearly spots lying beneath the waves on the seabed. "And already your technique is improving. This is seriously impressive for a day's painting."
"Thanks, but it's a work in progress," I said, yawning again. "I think I'll head to bed now."
"Before you go, I wanted you to have something." He reached into his pocket and drew out a small jewelry box. "I've held on to it ever since Sarah died, but I've been waiting to give it to you."
He placed it in my hand, and I opened it nervously. Inside it was a small ring, set with a smooth amber stone. "It's the very same one my father, Charlie, gave to Alkina the night before she left him," said Francis.
I held the ring to the light and the amber gleamed a rich honey color. A tiny ant was suspended in its center, as if it had just been caught out on a stroll. I could hardly believe that it was thousands of years old. Or that I'd had that vivid dream about the little insect sitting in the palm of my hand. It had looked just like this one.
"Camira brought it with her to Hermannsburg after Alkina died," Francis continued. "And on the day I told her that I wanted to marry Sarah, she gave it to me."
"Wow." I took out the ring and slid it onto the fourth finger of my right hand, where it winked up at me. "Thank you, Francis."
"No need to thank me," he said, beaming at me. "Now, you'd best get to bed before you fall asleep right here. Good night, Celaeno."
"Night, Francis."
We drove into the town the next morning, as Francis had suggested I take the canvas I'd painted out bush to show Mirrin, and because I needed to go to a travel agent and book my flight home.
"Is it a return?" the woman behind the computer screen asked me.
"Yes," I said firmly.
"And the return date?"
"I need about a week there, so that would be the sixth of February," I said.
"Are you sure that's long enough?" said Francis. "You should take as much time as you need. I can cover the extra cost on a flexible ticket for you."
"I only need a week," I reassured him, and went ahead with the booking. Although, it turned out that he did have to pay, because my credit card had finally decided to conk out from exhaustion. It had obviously reached its limit and I couldn't pay it off until I got home and went to my bank. I could have died of shame when it was declined; I'd always made it my golden rule never to borrow money.
"It's no problem, really, Celaeno," he said as we left the travel agent with the ticket, "it's all going to come to you eventually anyway. Think of it as an advance payment."
"You've already given me so much," I moaned in embarrassment. "Maybe whatever Mirrin offers me for the painting can cover it."
"As you wish," he replied.
At the gallery, Mirrin cast her eyes over the canvas and nodded in approval. "It's very good."
"Better than good." Francis eyed her. "I'd say it was exceptional."
"We'll try it on the wall for a thousand dollars."
"Double that," Francis countered. "And my granddaughter will expect sixty-five percent of the price."
"We never give more than sixty, Mr. Abraham, you know that."
"All right then, we'll take it to the Many Hands Gallery down the road." Francis made to pick up the canvas, but Mirrin stopped him.
"As it's you, but you're not to tell the other artists." She flinched suddenly and put a hand to the large bump of her belly, covered in a luminous kaftan. "The little fella is getting ready to come," she said as she rubbed the side of her stomach. "And I still haven't found anyone to replace me. At this rate, I'll have the baby at my desk!"
A thought sprang into my head. "You need someone to cover your maternity leave?"
"Yes, but it's so hard finding the right person. The artists need to know they can trust ya, and you have to be able to understand what they're creating and encourage them. That, and you have to be able to negotiate—though, luckily, not everyone is as killer as you, Mr. Abraham." Mirrin raised an eyebrow.
"I might know someone," I said, as casually as my excitement would allow. "Do you remember the girl that came in with me a couple of weeks ago?"
"Chrissie? The lady who bargained nearly as hard as your grandfather?"
"Yes. She studied history of art at uni," I exaggerated, "and she knows everything there is to know about Aboriginal art, especially about Albert Namatjira. And loads of other art too," I added for good measure.
"Is she working in a gallery now?"
"No, she's in the tourist industry, so she's used to handling foreigners and, as you know, is from an indigenous background, so the artists would like her."
"Does she speak Arrernte?" Mirrin's face had brightened.
"You'd have to ask her," I fudged, "but she definitely speaks Yawuru. And as you saw, she wouldn't take any messing when it came to the sale."
"Is she looking for a job then?"
"Yes."
I saw Francis was watching me with amusement as I sold this person he'd only briefly heard of before.
"Not gonna lie to you, Celaeno, the money's not good," Mirrin said.
"No one's in art for the money, are they? They do it for love," I replied.
"Some of us are." She eyed my grandfather. "Well, ya tell her to come and see me. Fast," she said as she flinched again. "I'm here every day this week."
"I will. Can you write down your number for me? I'll get her to give you a call to arrange it."
She did so, and I left the gallery in high excitement.
"So, exactly who is this Chrissie?" Francis asked me as we walked back to the truck.
"A friend of mine," I said as I hopped onto the passenger seat.
"Where does she live?"
"Broome."
"Isn't that a little far to commute to work here every day?" he asked as he reversed out of our parking space and we headed home.
"Yes, but if she got the job, I'm sure she'd be prepared to move. She loved it when we were here together a couple of weeks ago. She's an absolutely brilliant person, like, she's totally inspirational and so passionate about art. You'd love her. I know you would."
"If you love her, Celaeno, I'm sure I will too."
"I'm going to ring her the minute I get home, tell her to call Mirrin. She'll have to fly down here as soon as possible. It's a shame I've just booked my flight and I leave tomorrow."
"You were the one who insisted on the nonrefundable ticket," he reminded me.
"Well, if she got the job, maybe we could share an apartment in town." My mind immediately raced forward to a future with Chrissie in it, both of us surrounded by art.
"Or you could come and live with me, and keep house for your old grandfather," Francis suggested as we pulled into the drive.
"That would be nice too," I said, grinning at him.
"Tell her there's a bed for her here. She'll need to stop over for the night when she comes to meet Mirrin. I'll give her some Arrernte lessons," he added as he unlocked the door and I ran to get my mobile from the sitting room.
"That's really great of you, thanks," I said, and dialed Chrissie's number. She answered on the second ring.
"Hello, stranger," she said. "Thought you'd disappeared off the face of the earth."
"I texted you to say I'd been out bush painting," I said, smiling into my mobile because I was so happy to hear her voice. "With my grandfather," I added for good measure.
"Strewth! So, are you related to Namatjira?"
"No, although my grandfather is an artist."
"What's his name?"
"Francis Abraham."
There was a pause on the line.
"Ya kidding me!"
"No, why? Have you heard of him?"
"Just a bit, Cee! He was in Papunya with Clifford Possum and painted Wheel of Fire and—"
"Yeah, that's the one." I stopped her midsentence. "Listen, can you bunk a day or two off work to come to the Alice?"
"I . . . why?"
I explained, and the frostiness that had been in her voice when she'd first answered melted away.
"That sounds beaut, though she won't offer me the job when she hears I work on the tourist information desk at Broome airport. You've made me sound as though I'm the curator of the Canberra National Gallery!"
"Where's your positivity? Of course she will!" I chided her. "It's worth a shot, anyway, and my grandfather says you can stay at his place overnight."
"The prob is, Cee, I'm not sure I've got the moolah for the ticket. I used up all my spare cash last time I was in the Alice."
"Because you paid for the hotel, silly," I reminded her. "Hold on a minute . . ."
I asked my grandfather if Chrissie could use his credit card to book the flight in exchange for the dollars that I still had from the sale of my first painting.
"Of course," he said, handing the card to me. "Tell her I'll collect her from the airport too."
"Thanks so much," I said, and reported the good news to Chrissie.
"Am I dreaming? I thought that when I didn't hear from you, I'd frightened you off . . ."
"I'm sorry I didn't call. Things were busy this end and"—I swallowed—"I just wanted some time to think stuff through."
"I understand. Never mind for now," she said after a pause. "Ya can tell me all about it when I get there."
"Actually, I can't, because I'm booked to fly back to England tomorrow."
"Oh." She fell silent.
"It's a return ticket, Chrissie. I've got to go home and sort my life out, put my apartment on the market, and see my family."
"You mean you're coming back?"
"Yeah, course I am, as soon as I can. I'm gonna live here in the Alice. And . . . it would be great if you were here too."
"You mean it?"
"I never say things I don't mean, you should know that. Anyway, you'll have my grandfather to keep you company when you arrive, and from the sounds of things, you'll be far more excited to see him than me," I teased her.
"Ya know that's not true. How soon will you be back?"
"In about ten days. Now, get off the phone to me and call Mirrin, then book a flight and I'll text you my grandfather's number so you can call him with the details."
"Okay. Honest, Cee, I dunno how to thank you."
"Then don't. Good luck and I'll see you soon."
"Yeah. Miss ya."
"I miss you too. Bye."
I clicked off the phone and thought that I really did miss her. There was a long way to go because I wasn't sure yet what form the relationship between us would take, but it didn't matter because I was moving forward. One way or another, during the past few weeks it had been feeling much better to be me.
"By the grace of God, I am who I am," I whispered, and out of it all, I knew I had learned something important: I was certainly bicultural, possibly bisexual, but I definitely didn't want to be by myself.
"All sorted?" Francis wandered into the sitting room.
"I hope so. She's gonna book the flight and let you know what time it lands."
"Perfect," he said. "I'm hungry. You?"
"Starving, as it happens."
"I'll go and do something with eggs then."
"Okay, I'm off to pack."
"Right." He paused in the hallway. "Does your Chrissie cook?"
Remembering her homemade cakes, I nodded. "Yeah, she does."
"Good. I'm glad you've found your person, Celaeno," he said as he ambled off along the corridor.
"Take care of yourself, won't you?" my grandfather said as he gave me a hug in the airport departure lounge and I thought how great it felt to have two people who really didn't want me to leave Australia.
"I will."
"Here, I've collected some documents for you." He handed me a large brown envelope. "In there is your birth certificate—I got it from the public records office in Broome when I visited the ex-nurse. If you're serious about coming to live here for good—"
"Of course I am!"
"Then I suggest that you apply for your Australian passport as soon as possible. The form is in there too, as well as your mum's birth certificate."
"Right," I said as I tucked the envelope into the front of my rucksack, trying not to crumple it up. "Say hello to Chrissie for me, won't you? I hope you like her."
"I'm sure I will."
"Thanks for everything," I added, as the boarding call was announced over the PA system. "I hate planes."
"Perhaps you'll hate them less when one is bringing you back home to me. Good-bye, Celaeno."
"Bye, Francis." With a wave, I walked toward security, bracing myself for the long journey to London.
## 34
When I stepped out of the doors at Heathrow, the freezing-cold air of London hit me like a block of ice. Everyone around me was bundled up to their ears in thick coats and scarves, and the cold air stung my eyes and nose. I pulled my hoodie over my head and hailed a taxi, hoping I had enough English cash in my wallet to get me to Battersea.
When the taxi driver pulled up in front of my apartment building, I handed him a crumpled note and some coins, then stepped out. The Christmas lights I'd left had been replaced by a late January gloom and I felt like I had been taken from a Technicolor film and plunged into monochrome.
The lift took me up the three floors to the door of my apartment. I unlocked it and was startled to see that all the lights were on inside. What a dunce I was that I hadn't even switched those off before I left, I thought as I slammed the door behind me, realizing the apartment felt far warmer than I had set the thermostat to. The air smelled sweet, like a yummy cake, not fusty as I'd expected. In fact, it smelled like Star.
I'd texted her from my stopover in Sydney to let her know I was flying home and would be landing today, and asking if she had time to meet up in the next week. I needed to tell her I was selling the apartment, because even though it was me who'd owned it, it had been her home too.
I grimaced at the Guy Fawkes scarecrow still in my studio, sitting on top of the oil drum as if it were a throne, then walked toward the kitchen and saw with horror that the light in the oven was on. I was just about to turn it off when I heard the front door open.
"Cee! You're here already! Oh damn! I thought it would take you ages to get through immigration and London in the traffic . . ."
I turned to see Star, her face and the top half of her torso hidden behind an enormous bunch of bell-headed lilies, which she held out to me.
"I just went out to get these to welcome you home," she said breathlessly. "They were meant to be in a vase on the table, but never mind. Oh, Cee, it's so lovely to see you."
During the ensuing embrace, some of the lilies got squished between us, but neither of us cared.
"Wow!" she said as she stepped back and laid the lilies down on the coffee table. "You look incredible. Your hair's got lighter as well as longer."
"Yeah, it's all that sunshine in Oz. You look great too. You've had your fringe cut!" I knew the long fringe had been there for her to hide behind. Now that it was chopped shorter, her beautiful blue eyes shone out of her face like sapphires.
"Yes, it was time for a change. Listen, why don't you go upstairs and take a shower? I'll get on and prepare supper."
"I will, but first, do I smell cake?"
"Yes, it's lemon drizzle. Want a slice?"
"Do I? I've been dreaming about a slice of your cake since I left."
She handed me a thick, perfect wedge, and I bit into it. I finished the whole slice off in a few seconds and with another slice in my hand, I took my rucksack upstairs, where I saw that the bedroom was as neat as a pin, the sheets freshly changed. I walked into the bathroom, stepped under the power shower, and decided it was good to be home.
When I returned downstairs, Star was waiting for me with a beer.
"Cheers," I said, and clinked my bottle against her glass of Chardonnay.
"Welcome home," she said. "I've made your favorite. It should be ready in about twenty minutes."
"Steak and kidney pudding!" I confirmed as I saw the pastry rising under the spotlight in the oven.
"Yes. So, go on, I want to hear everything that's happened to you in the past couple of months."
"Wow, that's a big ask. How long have you got?"
"All night."
"You're staying over?" I asked in surprise.
"If that's okay, yes."
"Course it is, Sia! This is—was—your home too, remember?"
"I know, but . . ." She sighed and went to put some broccoli florets on to steam.
"Look, before you say anything, I just want to apologize," I blurted out. "I was a real pain in the backside last autumn—in fact, I've probably been a pain for most of my life."
"No, you weren't, silly. It's me who needs to say sorry. I should have been there for you when you were going through that rough patch at college." Star bit her bottom lip. "I was really selfish and I feel terrible about it."
"Yeah, I was pretty hurt at the time, but it gave me the push that I needed. I see now that you had to do it, Sia. The way we were—the way I was—well, it wasn't healthy. You had to go out and get a life for yourself. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have found mine."
"You've met someone?" She turned to me. "It's Ace, isn't it? You two looked so cozy together on Phra Nang Beach."
"Er, no, it's not Ace, but . . ." I felt completely unprepared for this conversation, so I changed the subject. "How's Mouse?"
"He's good," she said as she pulled the steak and kidney pudding out of the oven and began to plate up our supper. "Let's talk as we eat, shall we?"
For a change Star did most of the talking, while I gobbled down as much food as my tummy could manage to hold. I heard all about High Weald—"the Mouse House," as I'd mentally nicknamed it—and how it was under renovation, so she, Mouse, and his son, Rory, were staying in the farmhouse opposite.
"It'll take years to restore, of course. The property is Grade I listed, and Mouse is an architect, so everything has to be perfect." Star rolled her eyes and I was glad to see the tiniest flicker of Mouse's imperfection in them. It made him more human, somehow.
"You're happy with him, though?"
"Oh yes, although he can be incredibly anal, especially over chimney stacks and architraves. Rory and I just take ourselves off for a walk and leave him to it. And when Rory's in bed and Mouse is still studying different varieties of chimney pot, I write."
"You've started your novel?"
"Yes. I mean, I'm not very far on—only eighty pages or so—but . . ." Star stood up and began to clear the plates away. "I've made sherry trifle for pudding. You look as though you need feeding up."
"Listen, mate, this is a woman who's eaten a whole 'roo in one sitting," I joked. "And what about your family? Have you heard from your mum since she left for the States?"
"Oh yes," Star said as she brought the trifle over. "But now I want to hear about your adventures. Especially with Ace. How did you meet him? What was he like?"
So I told her, and as I did, I remembered how kind he'd been to me. And felt sad all over again that he thought I'd betrayed him.
"Are you going to see him in prison?" she asked me.
"He'd probably get me thrown out," I said as I scraped the last of the trifle out of the bowl. "I suppose I could try."
"The question is, did he do it?"
"I think he did, yeah."
"Even if he did, as Mouse said, it's doubtful that he would have done it alone. Why aren't others at the bank coming forward?"
" 'Cause they don't want to spend the next ten years banged up?" I rolled my eyes at her. "He did mention something about somebody called Linda knowing the truth, whoever 'Linda' is."
"Don't you think you owe it to him to find out? Perhaps he'd forgive you if you tried to help him."
"I dunno, 'cause when I think about it, it was like Ace had just accepted the situation, given up."
"If I were you, I'd put in a call to the bank and ask to speak to Linda."
"Maybe, but there might be more than one of them."
"So, it wasn't love or anything?" Star continued to probe.
"No, though I really, really liked him. He was thoughtful, you know? He was the one who sent off for the biography about Kitty Mercer—that's the person who Pa had said in his letter that I should investigate. Ace read the book to me after I told him I was dyslexic."
"Really? Wow, that doesn't sound like the Ace we've all been reading about in the papers. They've made him sound like an absolute jerk: a hard-drinking womanizer who only cared about making more millions."
"He wasn't like that at all. Not when I knew him, at least. He only had one glass of champagne the whole time I was staying with him." I smiled as I remembered that night.
"So that's Ace. Now what about your birth family? Did you find them?"
"Yeah, I did, though most of them are dead. My mother for certain—and my father, well, who knows where he is."
"I'm sorry, Cee." Star reached out her hand to grasp mine. "It's like that with my biological father too."
"It's fine, though, because the person I did find is fantastic. He's my grandfather. He's an artist—and a pretty famous one at that."
"Oh, Cee, I'm so happy for you!"
"Thanks. It feels good to find someone who shares the same blood, doesn't it?"
"Yes. Go on then, tell me all about how you found him, and who you are."
So I did. Star's eyes were out on stalks as I brought her up to the present day.
"So, you've got Japanese, Aboriginal, German, Scottish, and English blood in you." She counted the nationalities off on her fingers.
"Yup. No wonder I've always been confused," I said, grinning.
"I think it sounds exotic, especially compared to me, who turns out to be English through and through. So weird, isn't it, how your granny Sarah and my mum came from the East End of London? And here we are, living only a few miles along the river from where they were born."
"Yeah, I suppose it is."
"Did you bring any photos back of your paintings?"
"I forgot, but I think Chrissie took a shot of the first one I did with my camera. I'll get the roll developed."
"Who's Chrissie?"
"A friend I made in Oz." I couldn't tell her about Chrissie yet; I had no idea how to put it into words. "Actually, Sia, I think I'm gonna have to crash. It's, like, midday in Oz and I didn't sleep much on the plane."
"Of course. You go up and I'll follow you when I've put the dishwasher on."
"Thanks," I said, relieved to have escaped further conversation. Comforted by the domestic sounds of Star cleaning up below me, I slid into bed, pulling the soft duvet over me.
"It's so great to have you back, Cee," Star said when she came into the bedroom. She undressed and climbed into the bed next to mine, then switched off the light.
"Yeah, it feels great. Better than I thought it would," I said sleepily. "I just want to say sorry again if I've been, like, difficult over the years. I haven't meant to be. It's all there inside me, but it just comes out wrong sometimes, but I am learning, I really am."
"Shush, Cee, there's no need to apologize. I know who you are inside, remember? Sleep tight."
The next morning, I woke at the same time as Star, which usually never happened. I pottered around the apartment, trying to sort out what bits I would take to Australia with me, while Star stood out on the terrace, wrapped up in her dressing gown and talking on the phone. When she finally came in to make breakfast, she had a pleased look on her face, and I guessed she'd been speaking to Mouse. To make me feel better, a message from Chrissie pinged onto my phone.
Hi Cee! Hope ur flight was good. Interview at gallery was scary. Will hear back tomorrow, fingers crossed! Miss u!
"So, have you decided what you're going to do now you're back?" Star asked me over breakfast. The eggs Benedict was so good, it almost made me want to change my mind and stay.
"Well, I was going to talk to you about that, Sia. I'm thinking of selling this apartment."
"Really, why? I thought you loved it here." Star frowned.
"I did . . . I mean, I do, but I'm moving to Australia."
"Oh my God! Are you really? Oh, Cee . . ." Star's eyes filled with tears. "It's so far away."
"Only a day away on a plane," I joked, trying to cover my shock that she seemed genuinely upset. Only a few weeks ago, I was sure she'd have been glad to see the back of me.
"But what about the spiders there? You were always terrified of them."
"I still am, but I suppose I can handle it. And the weird thing is, I didn't actually see a single one while I was there. Look, Star, it's . . . where I belong. I mean, more than anywhere else, anyway. And Francis—my grandfather—isn't getting any younger. He's been lonely since his wife died, and I want to spend as much time with him as I can."
Star nodded slowly, wiping away tears with the sleeve of her sweater. "I understand, Cee."
"There's also something about being there that inspires me to paint. Maybe it's the Aboriginal part of me, but when I was out bush, it was like I just knew what to do without really thinking about it."
"You've moved closer to your muse. Now, that really is a reason to move to the back of beyond," she agreed sadly.
"Yeah, I mean, I was so lost when I left London, didn't know what I wanted to paint, but when Chrissie drove me out to the ghost gum with the MacDonnell Ranges behind it, something magical happened. She sold that painting two days later for six hundred dollars!"
"Wow, that's amazing, Cee! So, who is this Chrissie? Does she live where you're going?" Star eyed me.
"Er, she doesn't at the moment, but she might be moving there in the next few weeks."
"To be near you?"
"Yes, no, sort of . . . She might be offered a job in an art gallery, and, er"—I kept nodding like I was one of those dogs that sat in the back window of a car—"we're really good friends. She's great, really positive, you know? She's had a difficult life, and she's got this, like, false leg from below her knee, and . . ."
I realized I was rambling and had probably completely given myself away.
"Cee"—a gentle hand landed on my wrist—"Chrissie sounds amazing, and I really hope I'll get to meet her one day."
"I hope so too, 'cause what she's been through, well, it made me realize how spoiled I was growing up. We had this magical childhood at Atlantis, sheltered from everything, but Chrissie really had to fight to get to where she is now."
"I understand. Does she make you happy?"
"Yeah," I managed after a pause. "She does."
"So, she's your 'special' person then?"
"Maybe, but it's early days, and . . . Christ!" I hit the table with my fist. "What is it about being back here? I can't get the words right."
"Hey, Cee, it's me, Sia. We never needed words, remember?" Her hands began to move in the sign language we'd made up as children when we didn't want our other sisters to know what we were saying.
Do you love her? she signed.
Not sure yet. Maybe.
Does she love you?
Yes, I signed, without pausing to think.
"Then I'm SO happy for you!" she said out loud, and stood up from the table to give me a big hug.
"Thanks," I muttered into her hair, "though knowing me, it might all go wrong."
"That's what I think every day with Mouse. It's called trust, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"And remember," she said, pulling back to look at me. "Whatever happens, we'll always have each other."
"Thanks." I squeezed my eyes shut to hold back the tears.
"Now," she said, sitting back down, "I've done some research on 'Linda.' "
"Have you?" I said, trying to pull myself together.
"Yes." Star placed a name and number in front of me. I squinted at what was written there. "There are three Lindas at the bank. Given one works in the catering department and the other has only been there for the past two months, the most likely candidate is Linda Potter. She was the PA to the CEO of the bank, David Rutter."
"Really? How did you find out?"
"I called the bank and asked for Linda. Each time I got through, I pretended she was the wrong Linda and they connected me to the others in their different departments. Finally, I got to the CEO's office—Linda Potter has recently retired, apparently."
"Right."
"Well?" Star eyed me.
"Well what?"
"If Ace said Linda knows and this Linda used to be the PA to the CEO, she'd be in on everything that's going on in the company. PAs always are," she said confidently.
"Okay . . ." I nodded, wondering where this was heading.
"Cee, I really think you should go and see Ace, and ask him about Linda. And besides, this isn't just about him, it's about you too! He thinks you were the one who shopped him to the press. Surely you want to put the record straight before you leave for Australia?"
"Yeah, but there's no proof, is there? The film was on my camera, and I gave it to the security guard to develop."
"Then you should tell him that yourself. And also ask him why he isn't making any effort to defend himself."
"Wow, you're seriously passionate about this, aren't you?"
"I just don't like people being blamed for something they haven't done. Especially when it's my sister," she said fiercely.
"I'm trying to learn to keep my mouth shut," I said with a shrug.
"Well, for once in our lives, I'm saying the words for you. And I think you should go."
I saw then that she had changed in the past few months. The old Star would have thought all of this stuff on the inside, but would never have said it out loud. Whereas I had always said too much. Perhaps we were both adjusting to being apart from each other.
"Okay, okay," I agreed. "I know he's at Wormwood Scrubs prison. I'll find out what the visiting hours are."
"Promise?" she asked me.
"Promise."
"Good. I have to leave in a bit to collect Rory from school."
"Okay, well, before you go I was wondering if you'd help me fill in my Australian passport application? My grandfather's given me all the documents I need, but you know how I am with filling in forms."
"Of course. Do you want to go and get them?"
I brought the envelope downstairs and Star went off to find a black ink pen to start filling it in. We spread the documents out on the kitchen table and had a brief glance at my mum's birth certificate, before Star reached for mine.
"So you were born in Broome on the fifth of August 1980," she read, her head bent in concentration as she read more details on the certificate. "Oh my God! Cee, have you actually looked at this yet?"
"Er, no. My grandfather just gave me the envelope before I left."
"So, you haven't seen what your original birth name was?" She pointed to it and I leaned over to take a look.
"Strewth! As they say in Oz."
"Too right, Miss Pearl Abraham!" Star said, then she began to giggle.
"Pearl, ugh," I groaned. "And I always complained about Celaeno . . . I'm sorry, Pa."
Then I couldn't help myself and joined Star in her laughter, trying to imagine this other me called Pearl. It just wasn't possible. Yet, in so many ways, it was perfect.
Once we'd calmed down, I slid the birth certificate back into its envelope.
"Speaking of birth certificates, my mum's flying over here in a few days' time. And so is Ma," said Star.
"Oh, that's fantastic!" I said, thinking it would save me the trip to Geneva. "Are they coming to meet each other?"
"Sort of," said Star. "When my birth mum found me, she got in contact with some of the other members of her family. There's a heap of them still living in the East End of London. We're all going to a surprise party there for a relative of ours. My mum said a while ago she'd like to meet the woman who brought me up and thank her in person, and this was the perfect moment to invite Ma. I'd love you to meet my mum too—I've told her everything about you."
"What's she like?"
"Lovely, really lovely. She's not bringing her other kids over with her this time, but I'm going to fly over to New England and meet my three half siblings soon. Right, you need to sign there." Star indicated the box. "You'll also have to include a copy of your official adoption papers. Just give Uncle Georg Hoffman a call," she added. "He certainly had mine."
"So, how are the rest of the sisters? I haven't heard a peep from anyone since the newspaper thing."
"Well, Maia's started teaching English to kids in a favela in Rio, and Ally told me last week her tummy is getting more enormous by the day, but she sounds good. I called Tiggy just after New Year, she's changed jobs and is working on an estate not far from the animal sanctuary. She also wants to organize us all getting together at Atlantis for the anniversary of Pa's death in June. And I haven't heard a word from Electra in weeks, or seen her in the newspapers, which is unusual. That badge of notoriety goes to you, little sis," she chuckled. "By the way, when are you flying to Australia?"
"Early next Wednesday morning."
"So soon?" Star looked crestfallen. "The party's on Tuesday night. Can you make it?"
"Probably not. I have to pack. And stuff," I added pointlessly.
"I understand. Then maybe we can have a little leaving celebration for you before we go to the party? Then you could meet my mum and see Ma too."
"If you could spare Ma for a night, I could collect her from Heathrow and she could stay with me on Monday night and then go to the party with you from here on Tuesday?"
"That sounds perfect! Thank you, Cee. Now, I need to go and grab my things. Why don't you call Wormwood Scrubs in the meantime and see what the process is for getting in to visit? I've put the number on the table."
Star went upstairs to pack her bag and I wandered over to the phone, knowing I'd get no peace from Star if I didn't make the call. The receptionist at the other end was friendly enough, although she gave me the third degree on what my relationship was to "the prisoner."
"A friend," I said. Then she took my date of birth and my address, and told me I'd need to present some form of ID before I'd be allowed in.
"Did you get through?" Star said when she came down the stairs with her overnight bag.
"Yeah, but I'm afraid I can't wear that pair of tight hot pants you know I like so much. It's against prison rules."
"Right." Star smiled. "When are you going to see him?"
"I'm booked in for two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Maybe they can do the mug shots for my new passport while I'm there." I shuddered. "It feels weird thinking of Ace as a 'prisoner.' "
"I'll bet. Are you sure you're going to be okay in the apartment alone, Cee?" Star put a hand on my shoulder.
"Course I will. I'm a big girl now, remember?"
"Well, let me know what happens with Ace. Love you, Cee. See you next week."
I really did feel as though I were in a film as I traipsed through the towered gateway of "the Scrubs," as the other visitors waiting in line had called it. Inside, each one of us had our bags and ourselves thoroughly searched. Eventually, we were led into a large room full of tables and plastic chairs, and actually, it wasn't as depressing as I'd imagined it would be. Someone had obviously made an effort to stop the prisoners and their visitors from slitting their wrists by putting up bright posters on the walls. As we all sat down at separate tables, we were read a list of dos and don'ts and finally, the prisoners filed in.
My heart was beating like a tom-tom as I searched the line for Ace. By the time a familiar voice said, "Hi," in my ear, I realized I hadn't even recognized him. His hair was cut into a crop, and he was clean shaven and painfully thin.
"What are you doing here?" he asked me as he sat down.
"I . . . well, I just thought that as I was back in England, I should come and see you."
"Right. You're the first visitor I've had. Other than my lawyer, of course."
"Well, sorry that it's me."
There was silence between us, as Ace looked down at his hands, to his left, to his right, above him . . . In fact, at anything but me.
"Why did you do it, CeCe?" he said eventually.
"I didn't, honestly! That's what I've come to tell you. It was Po, the security guard, who was bribed by a guy called Jay. Someone at the Railay Beach Hotel had told me that he knew who you were. I didn't want to worry you or anything, so I didn't mention it at the time. I mean, I had no idea who you were anyway, so I didn't believe him."
"Oh, come off it, CeCe," he sneered, "that picture came straight from your camera. I allowed it to be taken because I trusted you, I thought we were mates."
"We were! You were great to me!" I insisted, then tried to keep my voice down as I saw others looking over at us. "I'd never have done anything to betray you. Po must have got a duplicate set of photos and given them to Jay. Anyway, it's the truth. It's what happened."
"Yeah, well." Ace stared off into the distance again. "It had to happen sometime, I suppose. I knew I couldn't stay hidden forever. You just hastened the inevitable."
"It matters to me that you believe me. I nearly had a fit when I got to Australia and all my sisters texted me to say I was on the front page of every newspaper! Do you think I wanted that?"
"What? To be involved with the most notorious criminal of the moment?"
"Exactly!"
"Lots of girls would."
"Well 'lots of girls' aren't me," I said firmly, trying to keep my cool.
"No," he agreed eventually. "You're right. I really thought you were different, that I could trust you."
"And you could—you can! Look, let's just forget it. If you don't want to believe me, that's up to you, but I'm not a liar. I'm here because I wanted to ask you if you needed any help. I could be a character witness, or something."
"Thanks, Cee, but courtesy of the media, my reputation is beyond redemption, and I deserve it. I'm sure you've read about my past antics. Not that they had anything to do with what happened at the bank, but I seem to be the most hated man in Britain just now."
"The good news is, I'm dyslexic, remember? I can't read properly."
Finally, he gave the ghost of a smile. "Yeah, okay."
"Who's Linda Potter?"
His eyes met mine for the first time. "What?"
I knew then that Star had found the right woman. "Linda Potter. You told me one night that she 'knew.' So, what does she know?"
"Nothing, she's no one."
"Well, I know she's someone, because she used to be PA to the CEO of Berners Bank."
"Just . . . don't go there, CeCe, all right?" he said through gritted teeth.
"Does she know something? Ace, why won't you let me help you?"
"Listen," he said, leaning toward me, "what's done is done, okay? Whatever happens, I'm going down. I did it, no one else."
"There must have been others that knew about it."
"I said, leave it."
I watched as he lifted his hand to alert one of the prison officers, who had the type of physique you wouldn't want to meet down an alley late at night. The man walked over to us.
"I want to go back to my cell now," said Ace.
"All right, mate. Time's up, miss," the guard added to me.
Ace stood up. "Thanks for trying to help, Cee, but really, there's nothing you can do, believe me."
Outside the prison, waiting for the bus that would take me back into central London, I realized that Star was right. Even if it got Ace nowhere in the long run, I had to show him that at least someone cared.
I knew what it felt like to be a beaten dog.
## 35
The jet lag didn't seem to want to leave me alone, so I was awake again early the next morning. First, I called Ma and told her I would meet her off the plane from Geneva at Heathrow on Monday afternoon. Then, at nine o'clock sharp, I called the Berners Bank number Star had left for me.
"Hello, can I speak to Linda Potter, please?"
"I'm afraid she's left," said a clipped female voice. "Are you the lady who called a couple of days ago?"
"Yes, I was just . . ."—I thought quickly—"trying to contact her because she's meant to be coming to my birthday party tonight and I, um, haven't heard from her."
"Well, you'd be best to try her at home."
"Yeah, but . . ." I paused, searching my brain cells for every thriller I'd seen to tell me what to say. "I'm at the venue now and she isn't answering her mobile. I don't have her landline number with me—have you got it at your end?"
"Yes, wait a minute."
I held my breath.
"It's . . ."
"Thanks so much," I said as I wrote the number down. "It's a really special birthday and it wouldn't be the same without her."
"I understand. It'll probably cheer her up a bit. Bye now."
"Bye."
I did a little wiggle of triumph around my vast sitting room before I collected myself and dialed Linda's number. My heart was pounding as the line rang, then finally clicked onto an answering machine and I hung up. Then I called Star, as I had no idea what my next step should be.
"Okay," she said. "You need her address. Hold on a minute."
I could hear her chatting in the background with a deep, velvety male voice.
"Cee, I'm going to pass you over to Orlando, Mouse's brother. He's fantastic at playing detective."
"Miss Celaeno?"
"Yes, but call me CeCe."
"Goodness, I do wish those blessed with unusual Christian names would actually use them. If anyone but my nephew would even dare call me 'Lando,' I should go into a funk for the rest of the year. Now then, Miss Star tells me you need the address of a person."
"I do, yes," I replied, trying to stifle a giggle at the old-fashioned way he spoke.
"Well now, I've just checked on the computer and the 01233 dialing code tells me your mystery woman hails from Kent. In fact"—there was a pause as I heard him tap the keys—"to be precise, Ashford. A quality little town, which is coincidentally very near to here. So, now I am searching the online electoral register in that area for a Linda Potter. Bear with me, please, while I scroll . . . ah, yes! Here she is. The Cottage, Chart Road, Ashford, Kent."
"I'll text it to you, Cee," said Star as she came straight back on the line. "Are you going to see her? It's only an hour's train ride from Charing Cross station."
"She might be away."
"Or lying low. Hold on . . ."
I waited as a discussion ensued between Orlando and Star.
Star came back on the line. "It's only a short drive to Ashford from High Weald. What about if we go and stake the house out for you?"
"You really don't have to, Sia, it's not like it's life or death or anything."
"It might be to Ace, Cee. We could check if there's any sign of an occupant before you traipse down here."
"Okay," I agreed, wondering whether Star's life was simply so dull that she had to fill it with weird missions to see a woman neither of us had ever met, on the off chance she could help a man who was in jail for fraud, who never wanted me to darken his doorstep again.
"We'll go during our lunch hour," said Star. "Orlando can be my lookout." The two of them giggled like kids on Halloween, so I said my thank-yous and left them to it.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was the estate agent I'd contacted about selling the apartment.
We shook hands and he wandered around nodding and grunting. Eventually, he came to me and gave a dramatic sigh.
"What's the matter?"
"Well, you must know the state of the property market in London at the moment?"
"No, I haven't got a clue."
"To put it bluntly, it's dire."
And then, the same man who had sold me the apartment in the first place by extolling its virtues proceeded to explain to me why no one else would ever buy it, certainly not at the price I'd bought it for anyway.
"The market's flooded with new-build waterside apartments, a third of which are currently standing empty. It's the subprime market in America that's doing it, of course, but everything has a knock-on effect."
Christ!
"Could you just tell me in plain English what you think I should put the apartment on the market for?"
He did, and I nearly gave him a serious black eye.
"That's twenty percent less than I paid for it!"
"Sadly, Miss D'Aplièse, the property market is a law unto itself. It relies on sentiment, which, unlike waterside apartments, is in short supply at the moment. It will come back, of course, as it always does in London. If I were you and didn't need the money, I'd hedge my bets and rent it out."
We then discussed how much I could rent it out for, which actually, to someone like me, was enough money to keep me in 'roo dinners for years and years. He said his agency would handle everything, so we signed some forms and shook hands. I gave him a spare key and just as I was showing him out, my mobile rang.
"Sia?" I said breathlessly.
"We're here."
"Where's 'here'?"
"Sitting outside Linda Potter's house. She's in."
"How do you know?"
"Orlando knocked on her door, and when she opened it, he announced himself as the local Conservative candidate for the area. I said that the Monster Raving Loony Party might be more applicable . . ."
Howls of laughter ensued down the line. When the two of them had recovered, Star continued. "Anyway, I took over from Orlando and introduced myself as his secretary and her face lit up. She told me that she was 'once a private secretary to a very important man.' "
"Oh," I said. "Was that significant?"
"Hang on, Cee, let me tell you the rest. I then asked her if she was retired. She nodded and said yes. 'Put out to grass before my time,' were her words. Orlando and I think she was got rid of."
"Maybe it was just her time to retire?"
"We reckon she's not even fifty yet."
"Oh," I repeated. "What do you think I should do?"
"Come and see her. I can collect you from Ashford station tomorrow, as long as it's not after three thirty, because that's when I pick up Rory from school."
"You mean you'll be my wing gunner?"
"That's what sisters are for, aren't they?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Sia. Bye."
I started packing up my stuff in the apartment half-heartedly, and as the afternoon wore on, I began to feel that really bad sensation of being alone. Star had her people now, and so did I, except mine were on the other side of the world. I slumped down on the sofa, feeling really low. Then, as if by magic, my mobile rang.
"Hello?"
After a long crackly pause, a familiar voice said, "Cee? It's me, Chrissie."
"Hi! How are you?" I said.
"Great, I'm just great. Your grandpa sends his love."
"Send my love back. How's things?"
"Good, good. I just wanted you to be the first—or, in fact, the second person to know, as I told your grandpa—I just got offered the job at the gallery!"
Chrissie gave a squeal of joy, which made me smile.
"That's brilliant news!"
"I know! Isn't it? The money's pathetic, of course, but your sweet grandpa has said I can stay with him until I save up some moolah for my own place. Not joking, Cee, he's my new BFF, but we both really miss you."
"I miss you both too."
"So, I'm just about to phone and jack in my job in Broome. D'ya think it's the right thing to do?"
"Chrissie, I'm about to jack in my life here in England. Of course it is! It's what you want to do."
There was a pause on the line.
"So you're definitely coming back?"
"Course I am," I said firmly.
"Then I will."
"What?"
"Jack in my job, idiot! What about Ace? Have you seen him?"
"Yeah, yesterday. He's in a bad way."
"Oh, but you're definitely coming back?"
"I said so, didn't I?"
"Yeah, you did. Listen, this is costing your grandpa a fortune, so I'll say good night. Miss you."
"I miss you too."
I went around the apartment and watered Star's plants. It was one small thing I could do for her, as she did so much for me. That made me consider my dependency on her, and the way that I had already slipped back into her helping me do the stuff that I wasn't good at.
Later on in bed, I decided that if I did go and visit the now infamous Linda, I would do it by myself.
After the short train journey to Ashford the next morning, I took a taxi to the address Orlando had given me.
"We're here, miss," said the cabbie, pointing at the house. I asked him to drive past it and turn into the next side road.
"If I'm not back in ten minutes, you can leave," I said, bunging him an extra fiver. "I'll call you later."
I walked along the road and paused as nonchalantly as I could opposite the house, which stood in a row of similar houses. THE COTTAGE was written on a little wooden sign on the gate. Crossing the road, I saw that the patch of garden fronting the house was immaculate. I opened the gate and walked up the path to ring the bell, trying to work out what I would say. Before I got there, the door flew open.
"If you're here to preach to me about supporting you in the local council elections, I'm not interested."
The woman was about to slam the door but I put my palm out to hold it open.
"No, I'm CeCe D'Aplièse, Ace's friend from Thailand."
"What?" The woman peered at me. "Good grief! It's you!"
"Yes." The door was still partially held open by my palm, and as she stood there gaping at me, I took in her brown hair cut into a sensible and unflattering bob, a neat blouse, and what Star and I would call an old woman's skirt, because the material reached to cover just beyond her kneecaps. She was obviously still speechless, so I continued. "I just wanted to talk to you." I watched her brown eyes leave me, darting left and right outside.
"How did you find me?"
"On the electoral register. I saw Ace at the prison. He thinks it was me who gave the newspapers that photo, but it wasn't. I really believe he's a good person underneath it all. And"—I swallowed—"he helped me when I needed it, and I just feel like he's got no friends right now, and he really, really needs some," I finished, panting with the effort of trying to say the right thing.
Eventually she nodded.
"You'd better come in."
"Thanks." I stepped inside and she slammed the door firmly shut behind us, then locked it.
"No one else knows you're here, do they?"
"No one," I confirmed, as I followed her along a narrow hall and into a sitting room where I'd have been scared to even think about having a drink because some of the liquid might just spill onto the shiny varnished surface of the coffee table. Even the sofa had had its scatter cushions symmetrically positioned in sharp Vs.
"Please, sit down. Can I get you a cup of tea?" the woman asked me.
"No thanks, I'm fine," I said, sitting down gingerly. "I'm not staying long."
Linda sat down in the armchair opposite and stared at me for a bit, then looked away, her eyes suddenly blurry, like she was about to cry.
"So," she breathed, obviously trying to collect herself. "You are Anand's girlfriend?"
It took me a moment to register that she was referring to Ace by his proper name. "I wouldn't go that far, but we kept each other company, yes. By the way, why did he tell me his name was Ace?"
"It was a nickname he was given on the trading floor because he always wins. Or at least he used to . . . Why exactly are you here?"
"Look, I just care about him, okay? And one night he mentioned your name. He said, 'Linda knows.' I really didn't understand what he was talking about at the time, but now I do, and I'm about to go to live in Australia, so I thought I owed it to him to find you before I left."
"He's a lovely boy," said Linda, after a long pause.
"Yeah, he is. He let me stay with him when I had nowhere else to go. I don't even know what I'm meant to ask you, but . . ."
I realized that Linda was far away, staring off into space. So I sat and waited for her to speak.
"He came over to England when he was thirteen to go to boarding school," she said eventually. "I was the one who met him off the plane from Bangkok, and took him down to Charterhouse School, which is close to here. He was so small at the time—looked no more than nine or ten—a baby really. He'd recently lost his mother too, yet he was so very brave, didn't cry when I introduced him to the housemaster, then left him there. It must have been such a shock, leaving Bangkok and coming to boarding school in cold, gray England."
I watched as Linda paused and sighed deeply, before saying, "Young boys can be so cruel, can't they?"
"I don't really know, to be honest. I have five sisters."
"Do you indeed?" She gave me a small smile. "Lucky you. I was an only child. Anyway, I used to call him every week, just to check he was all right. He'd always sound jolly on the phone, but I knew things weren't easy for him. Occasionally, at first, I'd drive over on Sundays and take him out to lunch. We became close, and eventually, with his father's permission, he came to stay with me during exeats and holidays. However, that's all in the past." Her hands clenched together to match her knees.
We sat in silence for a while, me trying to work this plot out in my tiny mind and not managing to. I was sure Ace had made it clear he hadn't even known his father, yet Linda had just mentioned him. Was she related to Ace? Was that why she'd cared for him when he was younger?
"Weren't you the CEO's PA at Berners Bank?" I asked her.
"I was, yes. As you might already know, quite a lot's changed there in the past few months. I'm now officially retired."
"Oh, that's nice."
"No, it isn't," she hissed. "It's utterly horrendous! I hardly know what to do with myself, being at home all day. Still, I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually, but it's quite difficult when a way of life is pulled from you suddenly, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," I said with feeling. "Is it because the bank's been bought?"
"Partly, yes, but David felt it was better if I disappeared into the background."
"David?"
"The CEO. Thirty years I worked for that man, lived for him and my job. And now . . ." She shrugged. "Well, there we are. Are you sure you wouldn't like a cup of tea?"
"I'm fine, really. Your boss is still working there, isn't he?"
"Oh yes." She nodded vehemently. "I've heard he's got a new version of me now called Deborah. She's very . . . blond, apparently. Not that it matters," Linda added hastily. "I'm sure she's very efficient."
"Linda," I said, thinking that this was really getting us nowhere, other than to make her more upset. "What is it you know about Ace? Like, is it anything useful that could help him?"
"Oh, I know everything about Anand," she said slowly. "I know exactly how he liked his hair stroked as he fell asleep, that he's a little deaf in one ear due to a rugby injury, and how he loves my homemade shortbread."
"I meant, do you know anything that might help defend him in the coming trial?" I asked. "To, um, reduce his sentence, or anything?"
She bit her lip and her eyes filled with tears once more. "Do you know, it's almost noon and I think I would like a little sherry. Would you?"
"Er, no thanks."
She stood up and went to a sideboard from which she extracted a bottle and a very tiny glass that she filled with some brown liquid. "Goodness, I haven't drunk sherry at lunchtime for years. Cheers."
"Cheers," I replied. For someone who said they didn't drink much, Linda knocked the glass back pretty quickly.
"That's better," she said. "Goodness, one can understand why people turn to alcohol, especially when they're under pressure. Was Anand drinking when you saw him in Thailand?"
"No. Nothing, apart from one glass of champagne on New Year's Eve."
"That's wonderful. He never was a drinker before he started trading. The problem is, excessive drinking is a rite of passage in the City, and he wanted to fit in with his fellow traders. No one wants to be different, do they? Especially if they are."
"No, they don't." I nodded in agreement.
"I told David right from the start that I thought it was a mistake to employ Anand at the bank after he left school, but he could see how gifted he was already. Anand didn't want to do it. He told me that, sitting right where you are now, but David ruled his world," she sighed.
"Are you saying that your boss forced Ace into being a trader?" I queried, even further confused.
"Put it this way: Anand was so in awe of him, he'd have done anything David said."
"Why?"
Linda's eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "Surely he told you? Otherwise you wouldn't be here."
"Told me what?"
"David is Anand's father."
"Oh," I gulped, trying to take in the ramifications of what she'd just said. "No, he didn't tell me."
"I, oh, dearie me, I presumed he had . . ." Linda buried her face in her hands. "No one else knows, you see, about that . . . blood tie."
"Really? Why not?"
"David was paranoid about his reputation in the City. Didn't want anyone to know he had an illegitimate son. And, of course, he was already married when Anand was born, had a young child with his wife."
"Right. Does Ace know David's his dad?"
"Of course he does, which was why he was constantly trying to please him. David did the proper thing to assuage his guilt by bringing his son over to England and educating him at a top British school when he heard Anand's mother had died. Then he offered him a job at the bank, as I said, on the condition that no one knew of their real relationship to each other."
"You mean, David was ashamed of his mixed-race child?"
"He prided himself on being the quintessential English gentleman. And he's always presented himself as the perfect family man."
"Jesus," I said under my breath, pinching myself to remember that it was 2008, and this kind of thing could still be happening. "So, Ace was desperate to impress his dad? Even to the point of trading fraudulently?"
"It was clear from the beginning that Anand was as talented as his father had once been, which was why David had employed him. Within the space of two years, he had risen through the ranks and was Berners's most successful trader. There were only three words that mattered on the trading floor: 'profit,' 'profit,' and 'profit.' And Anand was making more than any of them."
"Was his dad proud of him?"
"Yes, extremely, but then Anand had a run of bad luck and rather than taking it calmly, he panicked. And that's when I suspect he started to cheat. The problem is, even if you say you'll take a risk just once to cover your losses, and then don't get caught, you'll do it again. It becomes addictive, and Anand was also addicted to his father's praise and attention."
"Christ, it's just so sad." I shook my head, really feeling for Ace. "Linda, do you think David knew what Ace was up to? I mean, surely he must have done? He lost so much money."
Linda stood up to pour herself another glass of sherry and took a hefty gulp. "The truth is, I don't know for sure, but what I do know is that David should be standing by him now. It's his son, for crying out loud! And I wouldn't be at all surprised if David did know the trouble Anand was in. He is the CEO after all. I've even wondered since whether he slipped Anand some cash to help him conveniently 'disappear' to Thailand."
"Wow, what a mess," I sighed.
"It is, yes. My poor, poor boy. I . . ." Linda's eyes filled with further tears. "I never had children of my own, but I loved Anand like my own son, CeCe. I was there when his mother and father weren't, helping him through those difficult teenage years."
"Then why haven't you been to see him in prison?"
"David said I couldn't. He ordered me to keep away."
"In case someone traced your involvement with Ace and David, and discovered the truth about their relationship?"
"Yes, although there's no written proof—David's name isn't even on Anand's birth certificate."
I felt a surge of anger rise inside me. "There are genetic tests. I'm sorry to say this, but David sounds like a really serious"—I chose the most delicate word I could think of—"prat. Ace needs all the support he can get just now. He's, like, totally alone, going through this all by himself."
"You're right about David," Linda said darkly. "It's taken thirty years to remove the blinkers from my eyes. The problem was, I adored him from the first moment I started as a junior typist at the bank and when he eventually employed me as his PA, it was the happiest day of my life. I gave him everything. Wherever I was, whatever time of day or night, I was there to sort out and organize his life. And not just his, but that arrogant, patronizing woman he married and his two spoiled children who have never done a serious day's work in their lives. I was in love with him, you see," she confessed. "What a cliché I am: the secretary in love with her boss. And now, he's tossed me aside along with Anand. Do you know, he didn't even have the grace to tell me himself when the redundancies were announced after the bank was bought by Jinqian for a pound? I was sent to HR, along with the rest of the employees."
By now, I wanted to throttle this arsehole with my own bare hands. "It's because you knew too much."
"I was the shadow on his shoulder, the reminder of what he truly was. He's Anand's father, CeCe. He should be there for him in his hour of need, and he knows it."
"Have you ever thought about telling the media the truth?"
"Of course I have, constantly! I dream about the look on David's face if I did!" She gave a small chuckle and drained the rest of her sherry.
"And?"
"I . . . just can't. I'm simply not a spiteful person. And that's what it would be—spite, because it wouldn't achieve anything positive, apart from David's public humiliation."
"That's quite a lot in my book," I commented.
"No, CeCe. Try to understand that the one thing I have left is my integrity. And I will not allow him to compromise that as well."
"But what about Ace?" I insisted. "I understand that you're saying he did all the bad stuff of his own accord, but surely, when it comes to his court hearing, if someone could explain why it happened, it might help? After all, you've known him since he was a young boy, and you worked at the bank, so you could be a character witness. I'm willing to be one!"
"That's sweet of you, dear. The problem is that my redundancy payout is dependent on me keeping my mouth shut. I had to sign a clause agreeing that I wouldn't speak to either the media or the barrister defending Anand."
"That's blackmail, Linda!" I exclaimed.
"I'm aware of that, but without seeming selfish, that redundancy money is all I have to live on until I can draw my pension in seven years' time."
"Surely you can get another job? I mean, it sounds like you were a great PA."
"Oh, CeCe, you are sweet, dear, but I'm forty-eight. Bosses want young women, not middle-aged ones like me."
"Can't you, er, blackmail David back? I mean, you've worked for him for all these years. You must have some stuff on him."
"I certainly do. The things I could tell the newspapers about. For a start, his endless affairs, with me covering for him if his wife called the office. And his extravagance was breathtaking—only the best would do, and he'd move heaven and earth to get it. Do you know, even on the day that his precious bank was about to be sold for a pound, he sent me over to Hatton Garden to pick up a pearl he'd been hunting down for years. He'd finally traced it and had it sent to London by private jet. I took a million pounds in cash in a black cab to meet the middleman. David was like a child on Christmas Day when I returned to his office with it. I watched him open the box and take the pearl out. He held it up to the light, and admittedly, it was huge, and a pretty rose color, but David looked more in love with that jewel than I've ever seen him look with a human being."
I swallowed hard, then stared at Linda in shock. Surely it couldn't be what I thought it might be . . . ?
"Er, where did the pearl come from? Do you know?"
"Australia. Apparently, it had been lost for years."
"Did it . . . did David say it had a name? Like, because it was so special?"
"Yes, he called it the Roseate Pearl. Why?"
The spirits find greedy men and killem them . . .
"Oh, nothing." I had a horrible urge to giggle hysterically, but Linda wouldn't understand, so I controlled myself. "I really have to go now, but why don't I give you my number and we can keep in touch?"
"Yes, I'd like that," she said. We exchanged numbers, then I stood up and walked swiftly to the front door before the dam burst inside me.
"It's been good to talk to someone who understands, and who cares for Anand like I do," she said, laying a hand on my arm. "Thank you for coming."
"Please, Linda, even if you can't go to court to speak up for him, think about going to see Ace in prison. He needs you. You're . . . well, basically, his mum."
"Yes, you're right. I will think about it, dear. Good-bye now."
Outside, I walked along the road and down a narrow lane until I found a green. I sat down on a bench, and howled with what I knew was inappropriate laughter, but I couldn't help myself. If it was the cursed Roseate Pearl that Ace's dad had bought, which it definitely sounded like it was, then it could not have gone to a more deserving home.
Not that I wanted him to die, of course . . . well, not much, anyway.
I shivered in the cold and reached for my mobile to call the taxi driver. When the car arrived, I climbed inside, and called the Scrubs to book myself in for another visit.
When I arrived home, I realized I felt far calmer about the Ace situation. I had the strongest feeling that the Ancestors had everything in hand and David Rutter's destiny had already been set.
When I went to meet Ma at Heathrow, she emerged from Arrivals, looking elegant despite her long journey. I pushed through the crowd toward her and gave her a tight hug.
"Chérie, you look wonderful!" she said as she kissed me on both cheeks.
"Thanks, I'm feeling pretty good as it happens," I said and linked my arm through hers. We took a taxi to Battersea, and I led her into my apartment.
"Mon dieu! This is stunning." Ma stood in the center of the sitting room and waved her arms to indicate the enormous space.
"It's cool, isn't it?"
"Yes, but Star tells me you are selling it?"
"Not any longer, no. The estate agent tells me that property prices have tanked around here since I bought it, so I'm going to rent it out. The agent called earlier today. He's already found tenants for the apartment, so that's good. Can I take your coat?"
"Thank you." Ma removed it and handed it to me, then sat down and smoothed out her tweed skirt. She looked utterly immaculate as always and, comfortingly, exactly the same.
"Can I get you a cup of tea?" I asked her.
"I would love one. I refuse to eat or drink anything on a plane."
"I don't blame you," I said as I went to switch on the kettle. "Though I might have starved on the way to Australia and back if I hadn't."
"I still cannot believe you made all those journeys by yourself. I know how much you hate flying. I am proud of you, chérie."
"Well, life is all about facing your fears, isn't it?"
"It is. And you have made amazing progress."
"I'm trying." I took a cup of her favorite Darjeeling tea over to the coffee table and sat next to her on the sofa. "It's great to see you. Thanks for coming, Ma."
"Well, even if Star hadn't invited me to England previously, I would not have let you go off to Australia without visiting you. I'm so glad I have. And it's good to be away from Atlantis for a few days. So . . ." She took a sip of the tea. "Tell me everything."
"There's a lot to tell," I said.
"We have plenty of time. Just start at the beginning."
So I did, feeling embarrassed and awkward at first, because I realized that I'd never really been alone with Ma without Star beside me. But this was another step I had to take, now that I was my own person. Ma was the best listener I could have hoped for, and held my hand at the emotional bits, which was a good thing, because there were quite a few of them.
"Oh my, it is quite a journey that you have been on, chérie. And I would love to meet your grandfather," Ma said after I'd brought her up to date.
"He's special, yes." I paused then, because I needed to find the right words and not be clumsy with them. "You know, Ma, all this stuff—what Star, Maia, Ally, and me have been through—has really made me think."
"Has it?"
"Yes. About what being a parent actually is. Like, is the blood tie the most important thing?"
"What do you think, chérie?"
"That it was really, really great to meet my grandfather, but I've only added to the family I already have. I didn't need or want to replace you and Pa with a new version. It's a bit like my friend Ace—the one who's in prison; he had a mum in Thailand who he really loved, but she died. Then he got another mum here, just by chance, who's really rooted for him, like you do for all of us sisters."
"Thank you, chérie. I try my best."
"Ma . . ." This time, it was me who reached for her hand. "Hasn't it been really hard for you to see some of us going off and finding our other families? I mean, you've brought us up since we were babies."
"Ah, CeCe, you know that you are the only sister who has thought to ask me that question? I appreciate it, chérie. And yes, you are right. I watched you all grow from the babies you were, and was honored by the trust that your father had placed in me. For any parent, it is difficult to watch their young fly the nest, and perhaps find new families of their own from the past or in the present. But the fact that we are sitting here together tonight, that you wanted to see me, is enough for me, truly."
"I'll always want to see you, Ma. You're just . . . ace!"
We looked at each other, not sure whether to laugh or cry, so we decided to laugh. And then we hugged and I rested my head on her shoulder like I had done when I was little.
I looked at my phone and saw it was gone nine o'clock, and realized that Ma must be completely starving. I phoned for a takeaway, and we tucked into a delicious Thai green curry.
"So, you leave for Australia on Wednesday?" Ma asked.
"Yes. Ma," I blurted out suddenly, "can I ask you something?"
"Of course you can, chérie."
"Do you think Pa chose each of us girls specially, or was it random? I mean, like in my case, how come he happened to be in Broome not long after I'd been born and needed a home?"
Ma put down her spoon and fork. "Chérie, really, I would answer that question if I could. As you know, your father traveled a lot and I am not aware that there was a plan. Every baby that arrived at Atlantis was a surprise to me, especially you, CeCe. Why, only six months before, Star had joined us. Yes." She nodded, taking a sip of wine. "You were the biggest surprise of all."
"Was I?"
"You were." Ma smiled at me. "I also think that we humans wish to believe there is a plan. And perhaps there is, but in my experience, it isn't always man-made."
"What you're saying is that fate—or a higher power—leads you there?"
"Yes." Ma nodded vigorously. "I do believe it's true. It happened to me, for sure." Ma used her napkin to wipe her mouth, then surreptitiously wiped her eyes. "The kindness of strangers," she whispered, then took a deep breath. "So, would you excuse me if I retire for the night? From what Star has told me, we have a big evening tomorrow."
"You mean the party for Star's relative?"
"Yes, and of course, your leaving party," Ma reminded me.
"Oh yeah." I'd been so caught up in everything, I kept forgetting that I was flying off for good in little more than twenty-four hours' time.
"And I will meet her Mouse for the first time," Ma continued. "Have you met him yet?"
"Once, yes. He was . . . a nice guy," I managed. "I'm really happy that Star is happy."
Upstairs in the spare bedroom that had never been slept in, it felt really weird to show Ma where the towels were and how the shower worked, as if I were the grown-up and her the child.
"Thank you, CeCe. You have been a wonderful hostess, and I hope that one day, you will invite me to visit you in Australia."
"Course I will." I smiled. "Anytime, Ma."
"Good night, chérie." Ma kissed me on both cheeks. "Sleep well."
## 36
I surprised Ma the next day with my new early morning routine, and after a quick breakfast of croissants and coffee together, I left her to prepare for the drinks party and caught the bus to Wormwood Scrubs.
Ace slumped down in the plastic chair opposite me, looking irritated.
"I thought I told you to leave me alone," he said, crossing his arms defensively.
"Well, hello to you too," I responded. "Guess who I met yesterday?"
"CeCe, tell me you didn't—"
"Yes. I found Linda, and we had a chat, and she loves you so much," I blurted out, and leaned across the table toward him. "She told me the truth about your dad, and he's got to help you, and . . . did he know what you were doing? 'Cause if he did, then—"
"Stop! You don't know what you're talking about," he hissed, his eyes slits of anger. "It's all much more complicated than you can imagine."
"I know. Linda told me, but David is your dad, and that's not complicated at all. And he should be there for you, as your dad and your ex-boss, because I think he did know, and you're protecting him, and it's just not fair!"
Ace regarded me for a moment, then silently handed me a tissue from the box on the table between us. I hadn't even realized I was crying, but I supposed the guards were used to that in the visitors' center.
"CeCe," Ace said more gently. "I've had lots of time to think since I've been here, and when I was in Thailand with you. I knew that I would have to face up to what I'd done eventually, and that's what I'm doing now. Whether or not my dad knew—or even whether he is my dad—is irrelevant. It was me that pressed those keys on the computer to make the illegal trades. I've also realized that my fa—that David never loved me, or cared about me. Though to be fair, he doesn't care much for anything except money."
"Agreed," I said vehemently.
"So, he—and what I did—has made me realize exactly who I was becoming and don't want to be. In a way, this whole experience has saved me. The counselor has told me I can do a degree while I'm banged up. I think I'm going to take philosophy and theology. I'm only twenty-eight—I have plenty of time to make a different life once I get out of jail."
"Well, that's a positive attitude," I said, beginning to understand where he was coming from and admiring him big-time for it.
"And by the way, I know you didn't sell me out, CeCe. I checked up and that photo of us is copyrighted to a 'Jay.' You were right, and I apologize for thinking it was you. I have a lot of happy memories of us on Phra Nang Beach and I want to keep them like that."
"Me too," I gulped. "Listen, I'm moving to Australia, like, tomorrow. When you get out of prison, please come and visit me. Maybe that's where you could start your new life. It's the land of opportunity, remember?"
"Who knows? We'll keep in touch for sure. By the way, did you find out more about Kitty Mercer?"
"Better." I grinned. "I found my family."
"Then I'm happy for you, CeCe." For the first time, his face lit up in a full-blown smile. "You deserve it."
"Listen, I have to leave now, but I'll send you my new address once I'm settled there."
"Promise?" He grasped my hand as I stood up.
"Promise. Oh, and by the way," I whispered, "don't worry about your dad. I've got a feeling he's going to get everything he deserves."
I spent the afternoon packing the rest of my stuff into bin bags, which Star had said she would store at High Weald. Then I went out to buy all the bits I knew I couldn't get in Alice Springs, like Heinz baked beans and a gigantic bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut chocolate. Star, her mum, and Mouse were due to come to the apartment at six o'clock for my leaving drinks, before heading off to the East End. I splurged on three bottles of champagne and some beer to send them—and me—on our respective ways.
When I arrived home, loaded down with all my shopping bags, I saw that Ma had taken Star's place and was wearing her white apron, neatly tied around her waist. She greeted me at the door with a look of despair.
"Mon dieu! Is there a local patisserie nearby? The canapés I tried to make have gone wrong. See?"
She pointed to some weird—and actually quite arty—green pastry things that looked like someone had stamped on them.
"It's okay, Ma. I've got some tortilla chips and dip from the shop."
"Oh, CeCe, I'm so embarrassed! You have found me out." She sat down at the kitchen table and buried her face in her hands.
"Have I?"
"Mais oui! I am French, yet anything I cook is a disaster! The truth is that I have hidden behind Claudia for all these years. If it had been left to me to feed you girls, you would have been starved—or poisoned—to death!"
"Honestly, Ma, it doesn't matter. We love you anyway, even if you are a rubbish cook." I stifled a laugh at her distraught expression. "We all have strengths and weaknesses, remember? That's what you've always told us, anyway," I added as I dumped the tortilla chips into a bowl and put the champagne and beers into the fridge.
"It is, chérie, and you are right, I must accept my own."
"Yeah." I saw she needed a hug, so I went over to offer one.
"Oh, CeCe, I think that just now, out of all of my girls, I am proudest of you," she said as she stroked my hair.
"Why?"
"Because you know how to be yourself. Now, I will go upstairs and get ready for the party."
They all arrived just after six and I saw that Star's mum, Sylvia, was literally an older version of Star in more expensive clothes. She was really sweet, and told me she'd heard lots of good things about me, before giving me a hug.
"Thank you for looking after her when I couldn't," she whispered in my ear.
I immediately warmed to her, and was glad that Star had someone else who loved her as fiercely as I did.
Mouse was his usual gruff self, and I decided that if I were casting Mr. Darcy in that Jane Austen novel Star went on about all the time, I'd definitely pick him. I had to admit he was handsome, if you were into that sort of thing, but a bit standoffish, like most English aristocrats I'd met. Then I remembered that technically I was descended from a Scottish aristocrat too, and felt a bit more on the same level.
I watched as Sylvia approached Ma, and wondered how Ma felt about it. Then I closed my eyes and visualized a human heart beating. I watched it expand as it encompassed all the new people that I loved. And I understood that the heart had an infinite capacity to extend itself. And the fuller it was, the more healthily and happily it beat inside you. Best of all, my fingers itched, and I knew immediately what the inspiration for my next painting would be.
I came to as Ma pressed a glass of champagne into my hand. I noticed that everyone had quieted and was standing around me, watching me expectantly.
"Erm . . . ," I said stupidly, still dazed.
Ma came to my rescue. "I would just like to say," she began, "that I am so proud of you, CeCe, for how far you have come on your journey. Chérie, you are talented and brave, and your heart is true. I hope that Australia will give you everything you have been searching for in your life. We will all miss you, but we understand that our little dove must fly. Bon voyage!"
"Bon voyage!" everyone chorused, and clinked glasses. I stood back and watched them, this eclectic collection of people who had been knitted together by love. And I would always be a part of this patchwork quilt of humanity, even if I was flying off to the other side of the world tomorrow.
"Are you okay?" Star nudged me.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I swallowed. "Your family's great, by the way."
Mouse appeared at her elbow. "We need to leave now or we'll be late. Sorry, CeCe."
"Okay." Star looked at me miserably. "Cee, are you sure you don't want to come to the party with us?"
"Really, don't worry about me. I need to do some final clearing up and packing. It's just bad timing."
"I should stay here with you tonight." Star bit her lip as Mouse handed her her coat. "Oh, Cee, I have no idea when we'll see each other again."
Sylvia came to say good-bye to me and wish me luck, then it was Ma's turn.
"Good-bye, chérie, promise me you will take good care of yourself, and keep in touch?" Ma hugged me, and I saw Star shrug on her coat, then begin to walk back toward me.
"Darling, we're going to be late." Mouse took her arm and led her firmly toward the door. "Bye, CeCe."
I love you, Star signed to me from the doorway.
Love you too, I signed back.
The door swung shut with a bang behind her, and I did my best not to howl my eyes out. I hated Mouse for not even allowing us a proper good-bye.
I put the glasses and plates into the dishwasher, glad of the distraction, then I went to my studio and dismantled my installation, taking it down piece by piece to the communal rubbish container outside the building.
"You're binned," I said to Mr. Guy Fawkes as I stuffed him inside and slammed down the lid. Upstairs in the apartment, I watered Star's plants for the last time. She'd handed me her key earlier, entreating me to make sure the new tenants took care of her "babies," as she called them.
"Wow, this is seriously the end of an era," I muttered as I paced the apartment, the silence around me reminding me of why I'd gone to Australia in the first place. Putting on my hoodie, I braved the cold night air out on the terrace. I thought of Linda, and the life she'd never had; how she'd spent hers loving someone who would never love her. I felt a bit better then because, unlike her, I had a future to go to with people who did love me. What it might contain, I still wasn't sure, but it was there for me to write it. Or, more accurately, paint it.
I looked up and found the tiny milky cluster and I thought how much brighter the Seven Sisters shone over the Alice.
My new home.
When the taxi arrived at five the next morning, the sky was still depressingly dark. In the end, I hadn't bothered to go to bed, hoping it would help me sleep on the plane later. As we drove away from my apartment, a text pinged onto my phone.
CeCe, this is Linda Potter. I've given it a lot of thought, and I've decided to visit Anand. You were right, he needs my help and I will do what I can. God bless you, and safe journey to Australia.
Relief and pride rose up inside me, because I had changed Linda's mind. Me, with my clumsy words . . . I'd actually managed to make a difference.
I checked in my three bags at Heathrow and walked to the security entrance, wondering if I'd remember this moment for the rest of my life, because it was so seminal. Then I thought how it was never the big moments I remembered; it was always the little things—picked out at random by some weird alchemy—that stuck in the photo album of my brain.
I dug in the front of my rucksack for my boarding pass, and my hand brushed against the sugary brown envelope which had once contained the clues to my past.
"Christ," I breathed as I handed my boarding pass to the woman. I felt like it was almost a rerun of two months ago.
The woman nodded at me as she took it, looking half-asleep, which was only fair because it wasn't even seven o'clock in the morning yet. I was just about to walk through when I heard a voice behind me.
"CeCe! Stop!"
I was so tired that I thought I was dreaming.
"Celaeno D'Aplièse! Arrête! Stop!"
I turned around and there was Star.
"Oh my God, Cee!" Star panted as she arrived beside me. "I thought I'd missed you. Why on earth weren't you answering your phone?"
"I switched it off when I got out of the taxi," I said. "What are you doing here?"
"We didn't say good-bye properly last night. And I couldn't let you leave without giving you a proper hug and telling you how much I'm going to miss you, and"—Star wiped her nose on her sleeve—"saying thank you for everything you've done for me."
She flung her arms around me and held me tighter than she ever had before, as if she couldn't bear to let me go. We stood there for a while, then I pulled away, knowing if I didn't, I'd stay forever.
"I'd better go through," I mumbled, my voice croaky with emotion. "Thanks so much for coming."
"I'll always be there for you, darling Cee."
"Me too. Bye, Sia."
"Bye. Keep in touch, won't you? And promise you'll come back to Atlantis for Pa's first anniversary in June?"
"Course I will."
I blew a final kiss to Star, then I turned away and walked through security and into my future.
## TIGGY
The Highlands Scotland
January 2008
## 37
You sure about going out again later, Tig? There's a blizzard comin' in," Cal said to me as he studied the benign blue sky through our cottage window, the midday sun sprinkling a glitter topping on the permanent layer of snow that covered the ground all winter. The view was Christmas-card perfect.
"Yes! We just can't take the chance, Cal, you know we can't."
"I doubt even the Abominable Snowman'll be out tanite," Cal muttered.
"You promised we'd keep watch," I entreated him. "Look, I'll take the radio with me and contact you if there's any trouble."
"Tig, d'you really think I'm going tae let a wee lassie like you sit alone in a snowstorm while there's a possible poacher with a rifle prowling the estate? Don't be a dafty," Cal growled at me, his ruddy features showing irritation, then finally, compliance. "No longer than a couple o' hours, mind. After that, I'm dragging you home by the hair. I'll not be responsible for you ending up with hypothermia again. Understand?"
"Thanks Cal," I replied with relief. "I know Pegasus is in danger. I just . . . know it."
The snow had fallen thickly around us in the dugout and the tarpaulin roof had buckled under the weight of it. I wondered if it would collapse altogether and we would be buried alive under the sheer weight of snow above us.
"We're leavin' now, Tig," said Cal. "I'm numb to my innards an' we'll be struggling tae drive back. The blizzard's eased for a while and we need tae get home while we can." Cal took a last slurp of lukewarm coffee from the flask then offered it to me. "Finish that. I'll go an' clear the snow off the windshield and get the heat going."
"Okay," I sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing.
We'd sat in the dugout for over two hours, watching nothing but the snow hurl itself to the ground. Cal left and headed toward the Land Rover, parked beyond a stone outcrop in the valley behind us. I peered out through the tiny window of the dugout as I sipped the coffee, then turned off the hurricane lamp and crawled outside. I didn't need my flashlight as the sky had cleared and now twinkled with thousands of stars, the Milky Way clearly visible above me. The moon, which was waxing and within two days of being full, shone down, illuminating the pristine white blanket that covered the ground.
The utter silence that came just after fresh snowfall was as deep as the sparkling carpet that claimed my feet and most of my calves.
Pegasus.
I called him silently, searching for him around the cluster of birch trees that marked our special place. He was a magnificent white stag, whom I'd first noticed when I'd joined Cal on his rounds of the estate counting the deer. Pegasus had been grazing among a cluster of red deers and at first I'd thought that perhaps he was yet to shake the snow from his body. I'd alerted Cal and pointed out the spot, but by the time he'd focused the binoculars, the herd had moved away up the hill, camouflaging the mystical and all too rare creature that ran somewhere in their midst.
Cal hadn't believed me. "White stags are akin tae the golden fleece, Tig. Everyone searches for them, but I've been on this estate for all o' my life an' I've never seen the hide o' one." Chuckling at his own joke, he'd climbed back into the Land Rover and we'd moved on.
I knew, however, that I had seen the stag, so I'd returned to the copse with Cal the following day, and as often as I could after that.
My patience had finally been rewarded as I'd crouched behind a thicket of gorse and trained my binoculars on the ragged birch trees. Then I'd seen him, standing away from the others just to my left, perhaps only ten feet from me.
"Pegasus," I'd whispered, the name arriving on my tongue as though it had always been there. And then, as if he knew it was his name, he'd lifted up his head and looked at me. We'd held eye contact for perhaps only five seconds before Cal had arrived beside me and sworn loudly in wonder at the fact that my "flight o' fancy" had actually been real.
That moment had been the start of a love affair, a strong, strange alchemy connecting us. I'd rise at dawn, when I knew that the herds were still taking shelter from the biting winds at the bottom of the valley, and drive to the cluster of trees that provided scant protection from the bitter cold. Within a few minutes, as if he sensed my presence, Pegasus would appear. Each time, he'd take a step closer and, following his lead, so would I. I felt he was beginning to trust me, and at night I dreamed of one day being able to touch the velvety gray-white of his neck, but . . .
At my old animal sanctuary, my natural ability to connect with the young motherless or injured deer that had been brought to us to nurse back to health had been an asset. Here at Kinnaird, the livestock were wild, living as nature had intended them to and roaming the twenty-three-thousand-acre estate with minimal interference from humans. Apart from controlling their deaths through the organized culling of both stags and hinds.
During the shooting season, wealthy businessmen arrived at the estate on corporate hospitality jaunts and paid exorbitant prices to shed their aggression through their first experience of a live kill, then returned home to hang a deer's skull on their wall as a trophy.
"There's nae natural predators left, Tig." Cal, the estate ghillie—whose gruff manner and a Scottish accent you could cut with a knife hid a genuine love for the natural wilderness he struggled to protect—had done his best to comfort me when I'd first walked into the estate larder to find four blooded and skinned hinds hanging by their hooves. "We humans have tae take their place. It's the natural order of things. Y'know their numbers have tae be kept under control."
Of course I knew, but that didn't make it any easier when I was faced with mutilated life, snuffed out by a man-made bullet.
"O' course, Pegasus is somethin' different, somethin' rare an' beautiful. He'll not be touched on my watch, I swear tae you."
How word had got out that a white stag had been spotted on the Kinnaird Estate and passed to the press, I didn't know, but it was only a few days later that a journalist from the local newspaper had beaten the treacherous path to our door. I'd been beside myself, entreating Cal to deny Pegasus's existence—to say it was a hoax—knowing that a white stag's head was catnip for any poacher, who would sell it on to the highest bidder.
Which was why I was standing here now at two in the morning in an eerie frozen wonderland. Cal and I had constructed a primitive dugout close to the copse of birch trees and kept watch. All land in Scotland was open to the public, and we had no idea who might be prowling around the estate in the darkness.
I walked slowly toward the trees, begging the stag to make an appearance so I'd be able to go home and sleep, knowing he was safe for one more night.
He appeared as if from nowhere, a mystical sight as he raised his head to the moon, then turned, his deep brown eyes fixed upon me. He began to walk hesitantly toward me, and I to him.
"Darling Pegasus," I whispered, then immediately saw a shadow appear on the snow from the cluster of trees. The shadow raised a rifle.
"No!" I screamed into the silence. The figure was behind the stag, his gun aimed and ready to fire. "Stop! Run Pegasus!"
The stag turned around and saw the danger, but then, rather than bolting away to safety, he began to run toward me. A shot rang out, then two more, and I felt a sudden sharp pain in my side. My heart gave a strange jolt and began to pound so fast that dizziness engulfed me. My knees turned to jelly and I sank onto the snowy blanket beneath me.
There was silence again. I tried to hold on to consciousness, but I couldn't fight the dark any longer, not even for him.
Sometime later, I opened my eyes and saw a beloved, familiar face above me.
"Tiggy, sweetheart, you're going to be all right. Stay with me now, won't you?"
"Yes, Pa, of course I will," I whispered as he stroked my hair just as he used to when I was sick as a little girl. I closed my eyes once more, knowing that I was safe in his arms.
When I woke up again, I felt someone lifting me from the ground. I searched around for Pa, but all I saw above me was Cal's panicked features as he struggled to carry me to safety. As I turned my head back toward the cluster of trees, I saw the prone body of a white stag, blood-red drops spattering the snow around him.
And I knew he had gone.
## AUTHOR'S NOTE
The joy of writing the Seven Sisters series is that each sister—and subsequently their journey—is totally different from the last. And this has never been more apparent than when I finished Star's story and began to think about CeCe's story. I realized that I was as fearful about embarking on it as she is. I too was reticent about traveling to Australia—one of the only large landmasses in the world I had never visited, mainly due to its infamous huge and dangerous spiders. However, just like CeCe and her other sisters, I had to overcome my fears, so I got on that plane and traversed Australia to find the research detail I needed. And in the process, fell in love with this incredible, complex country. Especially the "Never Never"—the vast area around Alice Springs, colloquially known as "the Alice"—which, to my utter delight, I discovered is the high temple of the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades myths and legends. Learning not only about the beauty, but also the pure practicality, of a belief system and culture that kept the indigenous Aboriginal population alive for over fifty thousand years in the unforgiving landscape was perhaps the most humbling moment of my many research journeys across the globe.
I am a fiction novelist, but I take the background research to my novels as seriously as any historian, because history—and the effect it has on the lives of not only my sisters, but us in the present too—is my passion. Both the stories of the sinking of the Koombana and the Roseate Pearl are taken from historical accounts, although the last sighting of the pearl was on the fated Koombana's last journey up the coast to Broome and I added a possible fictional outcome from there.
Even though every detail in the books is checked and triple-checked, what I have come to understand is that every account of a historical event is subjective, simply because every written or spoken view is a human one. Therefore, any mistakes in my interpretation of the facts in The Pearl Sister are totally my own.
## ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many people have contributed to the research for this novel and I am hugely grateful to each and every one of them:
In Adelaide, my old friend and London lodger, Mark Angus, who was my tour guide, chauffeur, and fount of knowledge, especially on the best Aussie wine! In Broome, Jay Bichard at the Pearl Luggers Tour, the staff at the Broome Historical Society, and the Yawuru community. In Alice Springs, major thanks go to Phil Cooke and Alli Turner, who traveled from Brisbane to the Alice to accompany us on our research tour. Driving out to Hermannsburg through the "Never Never" was a journey I shall never forget. Thank you to Adam Palmer and Lehi Archibald at the Telegraph Station, and Rodney Matuschka at Hermannsburg Mission. And to a number of indigenous Australian men and women we met on our journey, who did not wish to be named, but helped me form a picture of their life and culture.
In Thailand, a big thank-you to Natty, who—when I was writing Kitty's past and the temperature soared to 113 degrees, breaking the air-conditioning—did her best to keep me sane and cool. And to Patrick at the Rayavadee Villas on Phra Nang Beach, who warded off the monkeys and kept me fed and watered.
Also a huge thank-you to Ben Brinsden, who patiently guided my writing of CeCe's texts, and helped me understand the challenges of dyslexia.
The biggest thanks of all have to go to Olivia Riley, my fantastic PA and helpmeet, who traversed Australia with me and kept me going. Nothing was too much trouble and I really couldn't have done it without you, Livi.
To all my fantastic publishers across the world, who have supported both me and the Seven Sisters series from the very beginning, even though most of them have since admitted they thought I was crazy to embark on such a huge project: Jez and Catherine at Pan Macmillan, UK; Knut, Pip, and Jorid at Cappelen Damm, Norway; Georg, Claudia, and the team at Goldmann, Germany; Donatella, Antonio, Annalisa, and Allessandro at Giunti, Italy; Marite and Una at Zvaigzne ABC, Latvia; Jurgita at Tyto Alba, Lithuania; Fernando, Nana, and "the Brothers" at Arqueiro, Brazil; and Marie-Louise, Anne, and Jakob at Rosinante, Denmark, to name but a few. You have all become my friends and we have shared so much laughter together when I have visited for a tour. Thank you, thank you, thank you, for being such caring and wise godparents to the sisters, and to me.
I am hugely grateful to Ella Micheler, Susan Moss, Jacquelyn Heslop, Lesley Burns, and of course, Olivia Riley—more commonly known as "Team Lulu"—who have provided vital research, editorial assistance, and domestic backup behind the scenes during what has been a chaotic year. Thank you all for your patience and ability to multitask at short notice as I, and my life, become ever more busy. And to Stephen—husband, agent, adviser, and best friend—I simply couldn't do this without you.
Harry, Bella, Leonora, and Kit—I'm so proud of each one of you. You make me scream with laughter, frustration, and happiness, and never fail to bring me down to earth. I love you all.
Last, as always, to my readers around the world: You have taken my sisters to your hearts, laughed, loved, and cried with them as I have done when I am writing their stories. Simply because we—and they—are human. Thank you.
Lucinda Riley
April 2017
## AUTHOR Q & A
1. How does the fourth sister, CeCe, relate to her mythological counterpart?
Celaeno's mythological story and personality, as CeCe points out herself, is the least-documented of all the Seven Sisters. So I took the bones of CeCe's legend, then set her free to create her own destiny in not only the land of new possibilities but, ironically, the high temple of The Seven Sisters legends themselves, where the girls are revered in Aboriginal culture.
2. CeCe is in many ways the polar opposite to her sister Star—how did you find her voice?
To begin with, CeCe was definitely the sister I was most nervous about writing. I was worried that readers would have a negative view of her before they came to read The Pearl Sister, as she seems controlling and abrupt. In The Shadow Sister we see the breakdown of Star and CeCe's relationship from Star's perspective. But as CeCe points out, there are always two sides to every story and The Pearl Sister is hers. Writing CeCe was a total revelation. She has such a unique and interesting perspective on life. She's always calling herself a "dunce," but that's because she struggled at school due to her dyslexia. In reality CeCe is seriously bright, funny, talented, and very, very real. When we meet her, she is so vulnerable and full of self-doubt and I don't think I have ever felt as protective about a character as I feel about CeCe.
3. You have written about Thailand before in The Orchid House. How did you feel about revisiting it in The Pearl Sister?
Thailand is one of my favorite places in the world, and I visit every year with my family. Our favourite place is Phra Nang Beach and I was walking along the shore early one morning when I came up with the character of Ace and why he is hiding out on the beach. People travel to this magical peninsula to "find themselves" and it also seemed apt for CeCe to begin her journey there while she gathers the courage to continue to Australia. I stayed on in Thailand to write the first draft of The Pearl Sister, with a one-legged mynah bird called Colin for company!
4. How did you approach the research for this book?
The research was like the country of Australia itself—vast! I always begin by reading everything that I can get my hands on, and while I was in Australia I found a number of out-of-print historical books, which provided the detail I needed on the pearling industry in Broome. Sadly, Aboriginal history has largely been documented by white men, from their subjective view rather than the Aboriginal people themselves. Their culture has always been passed down to the next generation by word of mouth. Luckily, I was able to find several online resources, such as a community website of the Yawuru people (whom I write about in Broome) which contained a dictionary of their language and information on their traditions and their Dreamtime stories.
The sinking of the Koombana was one of the greatest maritime disasters in Australia's history. I then discovered that whenever the Koombana or Broome are mentioned in historical texts, the Roseate Pearl makes a cameo appearance. The rumors of its curse were written down in Forty Fathoms Deep, a book published in 1937 about pearl divers in Broome. There are many different legends surrounding the pearl, perhaps the most well-known is this one: It was found by a white pearling master, but stolen by a diver. Two Chinese burglars then stole the pearl and it was sold to a man who then died of a heart attack. The next owner committed suicide when it was stolen from him, and in 1905, a pearl trader was murdered over it. Finally Abraham De Vahl Davis, a wealthy pearl dealer, is thought to have purchased it for £20,000 before boarding the Koombana, and that is the last we heard about it. Unless, of course, it wasn't on the ship at all . . .
5. What surprised you the most when you visited Australia?
One of my main source texts for the Pleiades myths has been Munya Andrews's The Seven Sisters of the Pleiades. Andrews herself is from the Kimberley region in Western Australia, so it was amazing to see the birthplace of these stories that have been orally passed down for thousands of years. Even though I knew how important the Seven Sisters are in Aboriginal culture, I was not expecting to see them so ingrained in everyday life. Walking through Alice Springs, I saw homages to the Sisters everywhere. It felt like a homecoming for me and, like CeCe, I totally fell in love with the Never Never.
6. You have mentioned before that there is an invisible plot thread spun throughout the books. Can you give us a hint about what is hidden in The Pearl Sister? What should we look out for in future books in the series?
There are hidden clues throughout the books, and every day I receive questions and theories from my readers as to #whoispasalt and where the "missing" seventh sister is. I can neither confirm nor deny any of them! The overarching plot is detailed in a file that is well hidden. Only six people on the planet know the ending. I had to write it down for the production team of the TV series of The Seven Sisters.
7. Yes, while you were writing The Pearl Sister, you made a deal with a Hollywood production company for a TV adaptation of the Seven Sisters series.
The series has been optioned by Raffaella di Laurentiis's production company, and the project is still in its early stages. The production company is very brave—they have their work cut out for them, as the story spans so many locations and time periods, but I trust them completely to translate the sisters' journey to the screen.
8. CeCe and Chrissie's relationship is very tender and complex. Can you tell us more about CeCe's journey toward discovering who she is?
When CeCe embarks on her journey to Australia, it's the first time in her life that she's taken off without Star. It was fascinating to write the development of her relationships with both Ace and Chrissie, who are very different people, but who each bring out something different in her. While Ace gives CeCe self-confidence and friendship, Chrissie helps CeCe find out who she is, what her roots are, and what a "home" truly means. Throughout the book, CeCe struggles with her identity, as we all do in our different ways at various points in our lives. CeCe is a work in progress and even by the end of The Pearl Sister, she is still uncertain about her sexuality, but at least she has begun her journey of self-realization and rediscovered her talent, her passion for art and found the inner confidence she so lacked.
## ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lucinda Riley is the New York Times bestselling author of The Orchid House, The Girl on the Cliff, The Lavender Garden, The Midnight Rose, The Seven Sisters, The Storm Sister, and The Shadow Sister. Her books have sold more than ten million copies in thirty languages globally. She was born in Ireland and divides her time between England and West Cork with her husband and four children.
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## BIBLIOGRAPHY
The Pearl Sister is a work of fiction set against a historical background. The sources I've used to research the time period and details of my characters' lives are listed below:
Munya Andrews, The Seven Sisters of the Pleiades (Spinifex Press, 2004).
John Bailey, The White Divers of Broome (Pan Macmillan Australia, 2002).
Annie Boyd, Koombana Days (Fremantle Press, 2013).
Diney Costeloe, The Throwaway Children (Head of Zeus, 2015).
J. E. deB. Norman and G. V. Norman, A Pearling Master's Journey (BPA Print Group Pty Ltd, 2008).
Susanna de Vries, Great Pioneer Women of the Outback (Harper Collins, 2005).
Mark Dodd, The Last Pearling Lugger (Pan Macmillan Australia, 2011).
Martin Edmond, Battarbee and Namatjira (Giramondo, 2014).
Aji Ellies, The Pearls of Broome (CopyRight Publishing Company Pty Ltd, 2010).
Barry Hill, Broken Song: TGH Strehlow and Aboriginal Possession (Vintage, 2002).
Ion L. Idriess, Forty Fathoms Deep (Angus and Robertson Limited, 1945).
John Lamb, Silent Pearls: Old Japanese Graves in Darwin and the History of Pearling (Bytes On Colours, 2015).
Peter Latz, Blind Moses (IAD Press, 2014).
Carl Strehlow, Die Aranda- und Loritja-Stämme in Zentral-Australien, vols. 1–5 (Joseph Baer and Co., 1907–1920).
T. G. H. Strehlow, Journey to Horseshoe Bend (Giramondo, 2015).
John G. Withnell, The Customs and Traditions of the Aboriginal Natives of North Western Australia (Dodo Press, 1901).
An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Riley, Lucinda, author.
Title: The pearl sister : Cece's story / Lucinda Riley.
Description: First Atria Books hardcover edition. | New York : Atria Books,
2018. | Series: The seven sisters ; book 4 | "Originally published in
Great Britain in 2017 by Macmillan"—Title page verso. |
Includes bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017040922 (print) | LCCN 2017046420 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781501180057 (eBook) | ISBN 9781501180033 (hardback)
Subjects: LCSH: Sisters—Fiction. | Nineteen twenties—Fiction. | BISAC:
FICTION / Literary. | FICTION / Historical. | FICTION / Action &
Adventure. | GSAFD: Historical fiction. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PR6055.D63 (ebook) | LCC PR6055.D63 P43 2018 (print) |
DDC 823/.914—dc23
LC record available at <https://lccn.loc.gov/2017040922>
ISBN 978-1-5011-8003-3
ISBN 978-1-5011-8005-7 (ebook)
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook"
} | 7,923 |
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entries << {filename: filename, content: content}
end
entries
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it 'iterates all zip file entries' do
subject.size.must_equal 2
end
it 'yields entry content' do
subject.first[:filename].must_equal 'file1.txt'
subject.first[:content].must_equal 'file1 content'
subject.last[:filename].must_equal 'file2.txt'
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end
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 5,273 |
\section{Introduction}
Real hypersurfaces in complex space forms have been the source for a vast amount
of research activity in the last decades. Little is known though about real hypersurfaces
in other K\"{a}hler manifolds, which is of course due to the more complicated geometry
of other K\"{a}hler manifolds.
Of particular importance in this context are real hypersurfaces $M$ for which
the maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}$ of the tangent bundle
$TM$ of $M$ is closely related to the shape of $M$.
The shape of $M$ is encoded in its second fundamental form $h$.
Let ${\mathcal C}^\perp = TM \ominus {\mathcal C}$ be
the orthogonal of ${\mathcal C}$ in $TM$. The subbundle ${\mathcal C}^\perp$
has rank one and hence is always integrable. If the integral
manifolds are totally geodesic submanifolds of $M$, then $M$ is called a Hopf hypersurface.
For the special case of $S^{2m-1} \subset {\mathbb C}^m$ the
corresponding foliation is the well-known Hopf foliation.
It is not difficult to see that $M$ is a Hopf hypersurface if and only
if $h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$, or equivalently,
if ${\mathcal C}$ is invariant under the shape operator $A$ of $M$.
In this paper we investigate Hopf hypersurfaces in the Hermitian
symmetric space $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, $m \geq 2$. This symmetric
space has rank two.
A major geometric difference between $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ and
its rank one partner, the complex hyperbolic space ${\mathbb C}H^m = SU_{1,m}/S(U_1U_m)$,
is the existence of geometrically inequivalent
tangent vectors. In ${\mathbb C}H^m$ all tangent
vectors are geometrically equivalent because of the two-point homogeneity
of ${\mathbb C}H^m$. On $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, however, there is a
one-parameter family of geometrically inequivalent tangent vectors,
and it therefore seems to be a good choice as ambient K\"{a}hler manifold for
investigating real hypersurfaces.
The Hermitian symmetric space $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ has
the remarkable feature that it is also a quaternionic K\"{a}hler symmetric space.
We denote
by $J$ the K\"{a}hler structure and by ${\mathfrak J}$ the
quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Let $M$
be a connected hypersurface in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ and denote by
$TM$ the tangent bundle of $M$. The maximal complex subbundle of
$TM$ is defined by ${\mathcal C} = \{ X \in TM \mid JX \in TM\}$,
and the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$ of $TM$ is
defined by ${\mathcal Q} = \{ X \in TM \mid {\mathfrak J}X \subset
TM\}$. The orthogonal complement ${\mathcal Q}^\perp = TM \ominus {\mathcal Q}$
is a subbundle of $TM$ with rank three.
In this article we deal with the classification problem of all Hopf hypersurfaces
in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ for which $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$. This is equivalent to classifying
all real hypersurfaces in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ for which both ${\mathcal C}$ and ${\mathcal Q}$
are invariant under the shape operator of $M$.
We first present a few hypersurfaces in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ with these two properties.
We denote by $o \in SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ the unique fixed point of the action of the isotropy group
$S(U_2U_m)$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Firstly, consider the conic (or geodesic) compactification of
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. The points in the boundary of this
compactification correspond to equivalence classes of asymptotic
geodesics in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. Every geodesic in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ lies in a maximal flat, that is, a
two-dimensional Euclidean space embedded in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ as
a totally geodesic submanifold. A geodesic in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
is called singular if it lies in more than one maximal flat in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. A singular point at infinity is the
equivalence class of a singular geodesic in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. Up
to isometry, there are exactly two singular points at infinity for
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. The singular points at infinity correspond to
the geodesics in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ which are determined by
nonzero tangent vectors $X$ with the property $JX \in {\mathfrak
J}X$ and $JX \perp {\mathfrak J}X$ respectively. Our first main result
is a geometric characterization of horospheres in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ whose center
at infinity is singular.
\begin{thm} \label{horosphereintro}
Let $M$ be a horosphere in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, $m \geq 2$.
The following statements are equivalent:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] the center of $M$ is a singular point at infinity,
\item[(ii)] $h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$,
\item[(iii)] $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$.
\end{itemize}
\end{thm}
Secondly, consider the standard embedding of $SU_{2,m-1}$ in
$SU_{2,m}$. Then the orbit $SU_{2,m-1} \cdot o$ of $SU_{2,m-1}$
through $o$ is the Riemannian symmetric space $SU_{2,{m-1}}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$
embedded in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ as a totally geodesic
submanifold. Every tube around $SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ satisfies $h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$
and $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$.
Finally, let $m$ be even, say $m = 2n$, and consider the standard
embedding of $Sp_{1,n}$ in $SU_{2,2n}$. Then the orbit $Sp_{1,n}
\cdot o$ of $Sp_{1,n}$ through $o$ is the quaternionic hyperbolic
space ${\mathbb H}H^n$ embedded in $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$
as a totally geodesic submanifold. Any tube around
${\mathbb H}H^n$ in $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$ satisfies
$h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$.
The second main result of this article states that with one possible exceptional case
there are no other such real hypersurfaces.
\begin{thm} \label{mainresult}
Let $M$ be a connected hypersurface in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, $m \geq 2$.
Then $M$ satisfies $h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$ if and only if
$M$ is congruent to an open part of one of the following hypersurfaces:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] a tube around a totally geodesic $SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$
in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$;
\item[(ii)] a tube around a totally geodesic ${\mathbb H}H^n$ in
$SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$, $m = 2n$;
\item [(iii)] a horosphere in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
whose center at infinity is singular;
\end{itemize}
or the following exceptional case holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(iv)] The normal bundle $\nu M$ of $M$ consists of singular tangent vectors
of type $JX \perp {\mathfrak J}X$.
Moreover, $M$ has at least four distinct principal curvatures,
three of which are given by
$$
\alpha = \sqrt{2}\ ,\ \gamma = 0\ ,\ \lambda =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}
$$
with corresponding principal curvature spaces
$$
T_\alpha = ({\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q})^\perp\ ,\ T_\gamma =
J{\mathcal Q}^\perp\ ,\ T_\lambda \subset {\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}.
$$
If $\mu$ is another (possibly nonconstant) principal
curvature function, then we have $T_\mu \subset {\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}$,
$JT_\mu \subset T_\lambda$
and ${\mathfrak J}T_\mu \subset T_\lambda $.
\end{itemize}
\end{thm}
One of the main tools for the proof of Theorem \ref{mainresult} is the Codazzi equation,
which provides some useful relations between the principal curvatures of the hypersurface.
The exceptional case arises from particular values of possible principal curvatures
for which the Codazzi equation degenerates partially to the equation $0 = 0$ and therefore does
not provide sufficient information.
We conjecture that there are no real hypersurfaces in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ whose principal curvatures
satisfy the conditions stated in Theorem \ref{mainresult} (iv).
It is remarkable that up to this possible exception all hypersurfaces satisfying
$h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$
are locally homogeneous.
The article is organised as follows. In Section \ref{horo}
we discuss some aspects of the geometry of horospheres in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
and prove Theorem \ref{horosphereintro}. In Section \ref{curvature}
we present some basic material about the curvature of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. In
Sections \ref{tube1} and \ref{tube2} we investigate the geometry of the tubes
around the totally geodesic submanifold $SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_m)$ in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
and around the totally geodesic submanifold ${\mathbb H}H^n = Sp_{1,n}/Sp_1Sp_n$ in $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$.
We show in particular that $h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$
holds for every tube around any of these two totally geodesic submanifolds.
In Section \ref{proof} we present the proof of Theorem \ref{mainresult}. A key step is
Proposition \ref{key} where we show that the normal bundle of a hypersurface in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
with $h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$ consists
of singular tangent vectors.
We finally mention that the corresponding classification for the compact
Riemannian symmetric space $SU_{2+m}/S(U_2U_m)$
was obtained in \cite{BS}. However, the noncompactness
of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ leads to problems which require different
methods.
\section{Horospheres in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$} \label{horo}
The Riemannian symmetric space $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
is a connected, simply connected, irreducible
Riemannian symmetric space of noncompact type and with rank two. Let $G =
SU_{2,m}$ and $K = S(U_2U_m)$, and denote by ${\mathfrak g}$ and
${\mathfrak k}$ the corresponding Lie algebra. Let $B$ be the
Killing form of ${\mathfrak g}$ and denote by ${\mathfrak p}$ the
orthogonal complement of ${\mathfrak k}$ in ${\mathfrak g}$ with
respect to $B$. The resulting decomposition ${\mathfrak g} =
{\mathfrak k} \oplus {\mathfrak p}$ is a Cartan decomposition of
${\mathfrak g}$. The Cartan involution $\theta \in {\rm Aut}({\mathfrak g})$ on
${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak u}_{2,m}$ is given by $\theta(A) = I_{2,m} A I_{2,m}$, where
$ I_{2,m} = \begin{pmatrix} -I_2 & 0_{2,m} \\ 0_{m,2} & I_m \end{pmatrix}$, and
$I_2$ and $I_m$ is the identity $(2 \times 2)$-matrix and $(m \times m)$-matrix
respectively. Then $\langle X , Y \rangle =
-B(X,\theta Y)$ is a positive definite ${\rm Ad}(K)$-invariant inner
product on ${\mathfrak g}$. Its restriction to ${\mathfrak p}$
induces a Riemannian metric $g$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, which is also
known as the Killing metric on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Throughout this paper we consider $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
together with this particular Riemannian metric $g$.
The Lie algebra ${\mathfrak k}$ decomposes orthogonally into
${\mathfrak k} = {\mathfrak
s}{\mathfrak u}_2 \oplus {\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak u}_m \oplus
{\mathfrak u}_1$, where ${\mathfrak u}_1$ is the one-dimensional center of
${\mathfrak k}$. The adjoint action of ${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak
u}_2$ on ${\mathfrak p}$ induces the quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure
${\mathfrak J}$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, and the adjoint
action of
$$
Z = \begin{pmatrix} \frac{mi}{m+2}I_2 & 0_{2,m} \\ 0_{m,2} & \frac{-2i}{m+2}I_m \end{pmatrix} \in {\mathfrak u}_1
$$
induces the K\"{a}hler structure $J$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
By construction, $J$ commutes
with each almost Hermitian structure $J_1$ in ${\mathfrak J}$.
Recall that a canonical local basis $J_1,J_2,J_3$ of a
quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure ${\mathfrak J}$ consists of three
almost Hermitian structures $J_1,J_2,J_3$ in ${\mathfrak J}$ such
that $J_\nu J_{\nu+1} = J_{\nu + 2} = - J_{\nu+1} J_\nu$, where the
index $\nu$ is to be taken modulo $3$. The tensor
field $JJ_\nu$, which is locally defined on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$,
is selfadjoint and satisfies $(JJ_\nu)^2 = I$ and ${\rm
tr}(JJ_\nu) = 0$, where $I$ is the identity transformation.
For a nonzero tangent vector $X$ we define
${\mathbb R}X = \{\lambda X \mid \lambda \in {\mathbb R}\}$,
${\mathbb C}X = {\mathbb R}X \oplus {\mathbb R}JX$, and
${\mathbb H}X = {\mathbb R}X \oplus {\mathfrak J}X$.
We identify the tangent space
$T_oSU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ at $o$
with ${\mathfrak p}$ in the usual way. Let ${\mathfrak a}$ be a
maximal abelian subspace of ${\mathfrak p}$. Since $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
has rank two, the dimension of any such subspace is two.
Every nonzero tangent vector $X \in T_oSU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)
\cong {\mathfrak p}$ is contained in some maximal abelian subspace
of ${\mathfrak p}$. Generically this subspace is uniquely determined
by $X$, in which case $X$ is called regular. If there exists more
than one maximal abelian subspaces of ${\mathfrak p}$ containing
$X$, then $X$ is called singular. There is a simple and useful
characterization of the singular tangent vectors: A nonzero tangent
vector $X \in {\mathfrak p}$ is singular if and only if $JX \in
{\mathfrak J}X$ or $JX \perp {\mathfrak J}X$.
Let ${\mathfrak a}^*$ be the dual vector space of ${\mathfrak a}$.
For each $\lambda \in {\mathfrak a}^*$
we define ${\mathfrak g}_\lambda = \{ X \in {\mathfrak g} \mid {\rm
ad}(H)X = \lambda(H)X\ {\rm for\ all}\ H \in {\mathfrak a}\}$. If
$\lambda \neq 0$ and ${\mathfrak g}_\lambda \neq \{0\}$, then
$\lambda$ is called a restricted root and ${\mathfrak g}_\lambda$ is
called a restricted root space. Let $\Sigma \subset {\mathfrak a}^*$
be the set of restricted roots. For each $\lambda \in \Sigma$ we
define $H_\lambda \in {\mathfrak a}$ by $\lambda(H) = \langle
H_\lambda , H \rangle$ for all $H \in {\mathfrak a}$. Since
${\mathfrak a}$ is abelian we get a restricted root space
decomposition ${\mathfrak g} = {\mathfrak g}_0 \oplus \left(
\bigoplus_{\lambda \in \Sigma} {\mathfrak g}_\lambda \right)$, where
${\mathfrak g}_0 = {\mathfrak k}_0 \oplus {\mathfrak a}$ and
${\mathfrak k}_0 \cong {\mathfrak u}_{m-2} \oplus {\mathfrak u}_1$ is
the centralizer of ${\mathfrak a}$ in ${\mathfrak k}$. The
corresponding restricted root system is of type $(BC)_2$. We choose
a set $\Lambda = \{\alpha_1,\alpha_2\}$ of simple roots of $\Sigma$
such that $\alpha_1$ is the longer root of the two simple roots, and
denote by $\Sigma^+$ the resulting set of positive restricted roots.
If we write, as usual, $\alpha_1 = \epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2$ and
$\alpha_2 = \epsilon_2$, the positive restricted roots are $\alpha_1
= \epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2$, $\alpha_2 = \epsilon_2$, $\alpha_1 +
\alpha_2 = \epsilon_1$, $2\alpha_2 = 2\epsilon_2$, $\alpha_1 +
2\alpha_2 = \epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2$ and $2\alpha_1 + 2\alpha_2 =
2\epsilon_1$. The multiplicities of the restricted roots $2\alpha_2$
and $2\alpha_1 + 2\alpha_2$ are $1$, the multiplicities of the
restricted roots $\alpha_1$ and $\alpha_1 + 2\alpha_2$ are $2$, and
the multiplicities of $\alpha_2$ and $\alpha_1 + \alpha_2$ are
$2m-4$, respectively. We denote by $\bar{C}^+(\Lambda)$ the closed
positive Weyl chamber in ${\mathfrak a}$ which is determined by
$\Lambda$. Note that $\bar{C}^+(\Lambda)$ is the closed cone in
${\mathfrak a}$ bounded by the half-lines spanned by
$H_{\alpha_1+\alpha_2}$ and $H_{\alpha_1 + 2\alpha_2}$.
We define a nilpotent subalgebra ${\mathfrak n}$ of ${\mathfrak g}$
by ${\mathfrak n} = \bigoplus_{\lambda \in \Sigma^+} {\mathfrak
g}_\lambda$. Then ${\mathfrak g} = {\mathfrak k} \oplus {\mathfrak
a} \oplus {\mathfrak n}$ is an Iwasawa decomposition of ${\mathfrak
g}$. The subalgebra ${\mathfrak s} = {\mathfrak a} \oplus {\mathfrak
n}$ of ${\mathfrak g}$ is solvable, and the corresponding connected
subgroup $S$ of $G$ with Lie algebra ${\mathfrak s}$ is solvable,
simply connected, and acts simply transitively on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Let $H \in {\mathfrak a}$ be a unit vector. Then
${\mathfrak s}_H = {\mathfrak s} \ominus {\mathbb R}H$ is a
subalgebra of ${\mathfrak s}$ with codimension one. The connected
subgroup $S_H$ of $S$ with Lie algebra ${\mathfrak s}_H$ acts on
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ with cohomogeneity one. If $H \in
\bar{C}^+(\Lambda)$, then the orbits of the action are the
horospheres in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ which are determined by
the geodesic $\gamma_H$ with $\gamma_H(0) = o$ and $\dot\gamma_H(0)
= H$. We recall from \cite{BT} that the shape operator $A_H$ of the
horosphere $S_H \cdot o$, the orbit of $S_H$ through $o$, with respect to the unit
normal vector $H$ is the adjoint transformation $A_H = {\rm ad}(H)$
restricted to ${{\mathfrak s}_H}$.
Recall that the conic compactification of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
is given by adding to the symmetric space $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ the equivalence
classes of its asymptotic geodesics, and then
equipping the resulting set with the cone topology.
If we denote by $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)(\infty)$
the boundary of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ with
respect to the conic compactification, then the equivalence class
$[\gamma_H] \in SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)(\infty)$ of all geodesics
in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ which are asymptotic to $\gamma_H$ can
be viewed as the center of the horospheres given by the
$S_H$-action. A point in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)(\infty)$
is called singular, if the geodesics in the corresponding
equivalence class are all singular. It is worthwhile to mention that
if the tangent vector to a geodesic in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ is
singular at one point, than it is singular at every point. Thus it
makes sense to talk about singular geodesics. Moreover, if two
geodesics are asymptotic and one of them is singular, then the other
one must be singular as well. Therefore we can say that a point at
infinity is singular if the corresponding equivalence class of
asymptotic geodesics consists of singular geodesics. For details
about the conic compactification and points at infinity we refer to
\cite{E}.
We now proceed with some explicit calculations. We denote by $M_{k_1,k_2}({\mathbb C})$ the real
vector space of all $(k_1 \times k_2)$-matrices with complex coefficients, and by $0_{k_1,k_2}$ the
$(k_1 \times k_2)$-matrix with all coefficients equal to $0$.
For $a = (a_1,a_2) \in {\mathbb R}^2$ we put $\Delta_{2,2}(a) = \begin{pmatrix}
a_1 & 0 \\ 0 & a_2 \end{pmatrix}$. Then we have
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak g} & = & \left\{ \left.
\begin{pmatrix} A & C \\ C^* & B\end{pmatrix}
\right| A \in {\mathfrak u}_2,\ B \in {\mathfrak u}_m,\ {\rm tr}(A) + {\rm tr}(B) = 0,\ C \in M_{2,m}({\mathbb C}) \right\}, \\
{\mathfrak k} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix} A & 0_{2,m} \\
0_{m,2} & B\end{pmatrix}
\right| A \in {\mathfrak u}_2,\ B \in {\mathfrak u}_m,\ {\rm tr}(A) + {\rm tr}(B) = 0 \right\}, \\
{\mathfrak p} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix} 0_{2,2} & C \\
C^* & 0_{m,m} \end{pmatrix}
\right| C \in M_{2,m}({\mathbb C}) \right\}, \\
{\mathfrak a} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix} 0_{2,2} &
\Delta_{2,2}(a) & 0_{2,m-2} \\ \Delta_{2,2}(a) & 0_{2,2} & 0_{2,m-2} \\
0_{m-2,2} & 0_{m-2,2} & 0_{m-2,m-2} \end{pmatrix}
\right| a \in {\mathbb R}^2 \right\}.
\end{eqnarray*}
The two vectors
$$
e_1 = \begin{pmatrix} 0_{2,2} &
\Delta_{2,2}(1,0) & 0_{2,m-2} \\ \Delta_{2,2}(1,0) & 0_{2,2} & 0_{2,m-2} \\
0_{m-2,2} & 0_{m-2,2} & 0_{m-2,m-2} \end{pmatrix}\ ,\
e_2 = \begin{pmatrix} 0_{2,2} &
\Delta_{2,2}(0,1) & 0_{2,m-2} \\ \Delta_{2,2}(0,1) & 0_{2,2} & 0_{2,m-2} \\
0_{m-2,2} & 0_{m-2,2} & 0_{m-2,m-2} \end{pmatrix}.
$$
form a basis for ${\mathfrak a}$. We denote by $\epsilon_1,\epsilon_2 \in {\mathfrak a}^*$ the
dual vectors of $e_1,e_2$. Then the root system
$\Sigma$, the positive roots $\Sigma^+$, and the simple roots
$\Lambda = \{\alpha_1,\alpha_2\}$ are given by
$\Sigma = \{ \pm \epsilon_1 \pm \epsilon_2,\pm \epsilon_1,\pm \epsilon_2,\pm 2\epsilon_1,\pm2\epsilon_2 \}$,
$\Sigma^+ = \{ \epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2,\epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2,\epsilon_1,\epsilon_2,2\epsilon_1,2\epsilon_2 \}$,
$\alpha_1 = \epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2$, $\alpha_2 = \epsilon_2$.
For each $\lambda \in \Sigma$ we define the corresponding restricted root space ${\mathfrak p}_\lambda$ in
${\mathfrak p}$ by
$ {\mathfrak p}_\lambda = ({\mathfrak g}_\lambda \oplus {\mathfrak g}_{-\lambda}) \cap {\mathfrak p}$.
Then we have
${\mathfrak p}_0 = {\mathfrak a}$ and
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & v_1 & \cdots & v_{m-2} \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\bar{v}_1 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \ddots & \vdots\\
\bar{v}_{m-2} & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\end{pmatrix}
\right| v_1,\ldots,v_{m-2} \in {\mathbb C} \right\} \cong {\mathbb C}^{m-2},
\end{eqnarray*}
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_2} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & v_1 & \cdots & v_{m-2}\\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & \bar{v}_1 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \ddots & \vdots\\
0 & \bar{v}_{m-2} & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\end{pmatrix}
\right| v_1,\ldots,v_{m-2} \in {\mathbb C} \right\} \cong {\mathbb C}^{m-2},
\end{eqnarray*}
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & ix & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
-ix & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \ddots & \vdots\\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\end{pmatrix}
\right| x \in {\mathbb R} \right\} \cong {\mathbb R},
\end{eqnarray*}
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & ix & 0 & \cdots & 0\\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & -ix & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \ddots & \vdots\\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\end{pmatrix}
\right| x \in {\mathbb R} \right\} \cong {\mathbb R},
\end{eqnarray*}
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1-\epsilon_2} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & 0 & z & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & \bar{z} & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & z & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\bar{z} & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \ddots & \vdots\\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\end{pmatrix}
\right| z \in {\mathbb C} \right\} \cong {\mathbb C},
\end{eqnarray*}
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1+\epsilon_2} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & 0 & -z & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & \bar{z} & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0\\
0 & z & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
-\bar{z} & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \vdots & \ddots & \vdots\\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & \cdots & 0 \\
\end{pmatrix}
\right| z \in {\mathbb C} \right\} \cong {\mathbb C}.
\end{eqnarray*}
For $t \in [0,\pi/4]$ we define
$$ H_t = \cos(t) e_1 + \sin(t) e_2 \in {\mathfrak a} $$
and denote by $M_t$ the horosphere which coincides with the orbit
$S_{H_t} \cdot o$. Every horosphere in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ is
isometrically congruent to $M_t$ for some $t \in [0,\pi/4]$, and two
horospheres $M_{t_1}$ and $M_{t_2}$ are isometrically congruent if
and only if $t_1 = t_2$. The principal curvatures of $M_t$ with
respect to the unit normal vector $H_t$ are $0$ and $\lambda(H_t)$,
$\lambda \in \Sigma^+$, and ${\mathfrak a} \ominus {\mathbb R}H_t$
and ${\mathfrak p}_\lambda$ consists of corresponding principal
curvature vectors.
\begin{tb} \label{table1} The principal curvatures and corresponding eigenspaces and multiplicites of the
horosphere determined by $H_t = \cos(t) e_1 + \sin(t) e_2 \in {\mathfrak a}$ are given by
\smallskip
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|l|l|}
\hline
\mbox{principal curvature} & \mbox{eigenspace} & \mbox{multiplicity} \\
\hline
$0$ & ${\mathfrak a} \ominus {\mathbb R}H_t$ & $1$ \\
$2 \cos(t)$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1}$ & $1$ \\
$2 \sin(t)$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2}$ & $1$ \\
$\cos(t) - \sin(t)$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2}$ & $2$ \\
$\cos(t) + \sin(t)$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2}$ & $2$ \\
$\cos(t)$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1}$ & $2m-4$ \\
$\sin(t)$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_2}$ & $2m-4$ \\
\hline\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\end{tb}
Thus the number of distinct principal curvatures is $7$ for $m > 2$ and $5$ for $m=2$
unless $t \in \{0,\arctan(\frac{1}{2}),\frac{\pi}{4}\}$. In these three cases we get the following table:
\begin{tb} \label{table2} The principal curvatures and corresponding eigenspaces and multiplicites of the
horosphere determined by $H_t = \cos(t) e_1 + \sin(t) e_2 \in {\mathfrak a}$ with $t \in \{0,\arctan(\frac{1}{2}),\frac{\pi}{4}\}$
are given by
\smallskip
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|l|l|l|}
\hline
$t$ & \mbox{principal curvature} & \mbox{eigenspace} & \mbox{multiplicity}\\
\hline
$0$ & $0$ & ${\mathbb R}e_2 \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_2} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2}$ & $2m-2$ \\
& $1$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2}
\oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2}$ & $2m$\\
& $2$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1}$ & $1$ \\
\hline
$\arctan(\frac{1}{2})$ & $0$ & ${\mathbb R}(e_1-2e_2)$ & $1$ \\
& $1/\sqrt{5}$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_2} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2}$ & $2m-2$\\
& $2/\sqrt{5}$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2}$ & $2m-3$\\
& $3/\sqrt{5}$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2}$ & $2$\\
& $4/\sqrt{5}$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1}$ & $1$\\
\hline
$\frac{\pi}{4}$ & $0$ & ${\mathbb R}(e_1 -e_2) \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2}$ & $3$ \\
& $1/\sqrt{2}$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_2}$ & $4m-8$\\
& $\sqrt{2}$ & ${\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2} \oplus
{\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2}$ & $4$ \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\end{tb}
We now investigate the maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}_t$ of $TM_t$. We recall that the complex structure $J$ on
${\mathfrak p} \cong T_oSU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ is given by $JX = {\rm ad}(Z)X$ for all $X \in {\mathfrak p}$, where
$Z = \begin{pmatrix} \frac{mi}{m+2}I_2 & 0_{2,m} \\ 0_{m,2} & \frac{-2i}{m+2}I_m \end{pmatrix}$.
In particular, we get
$$JH_t = iH_t \in {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2}.$$
The maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}_t$ of $M_t$ is invariant under the shape operator of $M_t$
if and only if $JH_t$ is a principal curvature vector. Using the above tables and root space descriptions it is easy to see
that $JH_t$ is a principal curvature vector of $M_t$ if and only if $t \in \{0,\frac{\pi}{4}\}$. These two values for $t$
correspond exactly to the boundary of the closed positive Weyl chamber $\bar{C}^+(\Lambda)$, and
therefore to the two types of singular geodesics on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
The quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure ${\mathfrak J}$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ is determined by the
transformations ${\rm ad}(Q)$ on ${\mathfrak p}$ with
$$Q \in \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix} A & 0_{2,m} \\
0_{m,2} & 0_{m,m} \end{pmatrix}
\right| A \in {\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak u}_2 \right\} \subset {\mathfrak k}.$$
We now investigate the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}_t$ of $TM_t$. For $t = 0$ we have $H_0 = e_1$ and
$${\mathfrak J}H_0 = {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1} \oplus ({\mathfrak J}H_0 \cap
({\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2}
\oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2})).$$
Using Table \ref{table2} we see that ${\mathfrak J}e_1$ is invariant under the shape operator of $M_0$.
This implies that the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}_0$ of $TM_0$ is invariant under the shape
operator of $M_0$. Next, for $t = \frac{\pi}{4}$ we have $H_{\frac{\pi}{4}} = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}(e_1 + e_2)$. In this case
we get
$${\mathfrak J}H_{\frac{\pi}{4}} = {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2} \oplus ({\mathfrak J}H_{\frac{\pi}{4}} \cap
({\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2})),$$
which is contained in the $\sqrt{2}$-eigenspace of the shape operator according to Table \ref{table2}.
It follows that the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}_{\frac{\pi}{4}}$
of $TM_{\frac{\pi}{4}}$ is invariant under the shape
operator of $M_{\frac{\pi}{4}}$. Finally, for $0 < t < \frac{\pi}{4}$ we see that
$${\mathfrak J}H_t \subset {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_1} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{2\epsilon_2} \oplus
{\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 - \epsilon_2} \oplus {\mathfrak p}_{\epsilon_1 + \epsilon_2}.$$
We see from Table \ref{table1} and Table \ref{table2} that the four root spaces we just listed
correspond to distinct principal curvatures, and ${\mathfrak J}H_t$ is not equal to the sum of any three of them.
We thus conclude that for $0 < t < \frac{\pi}{4}$
the maximal quaternionic subbundle of $TM_t$ is not invariant under the shape operator of $M_t$.
We finally note that the angle between $JH_t$ and ${\mathfrak J}H_t$
is equal to $2t$. Therefore the horospheres with a singular point at
infinity are characterized by the geometric property that their
normal vectors $H$ satisfy $JH \in {\mathfrak J}H$ or $JH \perp
{\mathfrak J}H$. Since horospheres in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ are
homogeneous hypersurfaces, and isometries of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
preserve angles as well as complex and quaternionic subspaces, it
follows that the horospheres with a singular point at infinity can
be characterized by the property that $JH \in {\mathfrak J}H$ or $JH
\perp {\mathfrak J}H$ for some nonzero normal vector. This finishes
the proof of Theorem \ref{horosphereintro}.
\section{Curvature of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$} \label{curvature}
In this section we review some facts about the curvature of the Riemannian symmetric
space $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ equipped with the Killing metric $g$. We denote by $R$ the Riemannian
curvature tensor of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ with the convention $R(X,Y) = \nabla_X\nabla_Y -
\nabla_Y\nabla_X - \nabla_{[X,Y]}$ for all vector fields $X,Y$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$,
where $\nabla$ is the Levi Civita covariant derivative of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Locally the Riemannian curvature tensor $R$ can be expressed entirely in terms of the metric $g$, the
complex structure $J$, and the quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure ${\mathfrak J}$:
\begin{eqnarray*}
R(X,Y)Z & = & -\frac{1}{2} \biggl\lbrack
g(Y,Z)X - g(X,Z)Y + \ g(JY,Z)JX - g(JX,Z)JY - 2g(JX,Y)JZ \\
& & \qquad + \ \sum_{\nu=1}^3 \left\{g(J_\nu Y,Z)J_\nu X - g(J_\nu X,Z)J_\nu Y -
2g(J_\nu X,Y)J_\nu Z\right\} \\
& & \qquad + \ \sum_{\nu=1}^3 \left\{g(J_\nu JY,Z)J_\nu JX -
g(J_\nu JX,Z)J_\nu JY\right\} \biggr\rbrack\ ,
\end{eqnarray*}
where $J_1,J_2,J_3$ is a canonical local basis of ${\mathfrak J}$. The Riemannian curvature tensor for
the compact symmetric space $SU_{2+m}/S(U_2U_m)$ was calculated explicitly by the first author in
\cite{Be}. The concept of duality between symmetric spaces of compact and noncompact type implies that the
Riemannian curvature tensors of $SU_{2+m}/S(U_2U_m)$ and $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ just differ by sign.
The factor $\frac{1}{2}$ is a consequence of choosing the Killing metric.
The sectional curvature $K$
of the symmetric space $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ equipped with the Killing metric $g$ is bounded by $-4 \leq K \leq 0$.
The sectional curvature $-4$ is obtained for all $2$-planes ${\mathbb C}X$ where $X$ is a nonzero
vector with $JX \in {\mathfrak J}X$.
The Jacobi operator with respect to $X$ is the selfadjoint endomorphism defined by $R_XY = R(Y,X)X$.
We will need later the eigenvalues, eigenspaces and multiplicities of $R_X$ in case $X$ is a singular
unit tangent vector. As we remarked above, there are two types of singular tangent vectors, namely of
type $JX \perp {\mathfrak J}X$ and $JX \in {\mathfrak J}X$. In the second case we can write
$JX = J_1X$ with some almost Hermitian structure $J_1 \in {\mathfrak J}$.
\begin{tb} \label{Jacobi}
The eigenvalues, eigenspaces and multiplicites of the Jacobi operator $R_X$ for a singular
unit tangent vector $X$ are given by
\smallskip
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|l|l|l|}
\hline
\mbox{type} &\mbox{eigenvalue} & \mbox{eigenspace} & \mbox{multiplicity} \\
\hline
$JX \perp {\mathfrak J}X$ & $0$ & ${\mathbb R}X \oplus {\mathfrak J}JX$ & $4$\\
& $-\frac{1}{2}$ & $({\mathbb R}X \oplus {\mathbb R}JX \oplus {\mathfrak J}X \oplus {\mathfrak J}JX)^\perp$ & $4m-8$ \\
& $-2$ & ${\mathbb R}JX \oplus {\mathfrak J}X$ & $4$\\
\hline
$JX = J_1X \in {\mathfrak J}X$ & $0$ & ${\mathbb R}X \oplus \{Y \mid Y \perp {\mathbb H}X,JY = -J_1Y\}$ & $2m-1$\\
& $-1$ & $({\mathbb H}X \ominus {\mathbb C}X) \oplus \{Y \mid Y \perp {\mathbb H}X,JY = J_1Y\}$ & $2m$ \\
& $-4$ & ${\mathbb R}JX $ & $1$\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\end{tb}
\section{The action of $SU_{2,m-1}$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$} \label{tube1}
In this section we investigate the action of $SU_{2,m-1}$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. It is clear that
${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak u}_{2,m-1}$ is invariant under $\theta$, and hence the orbit $W = SU_{2,m-1} \cdot o$ through
$o$ is a totally geodesic submanifold of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. The isotropy subgroup at $o$
can easily seen to be equal to $S(U_2U_{m-1})$, and therefore $W = SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$.
The tangent space $T_oW$ and the normal space $\nu_oW$ are given by
\begin{eqnarray*}
T_oW & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix} 0_{2,2} & C & 0_{2,1} \\
C^* & 0_{m-1,m-1} & 0_{m-1,1} \\
0_{1,2} & 0_{1,m-1} & 0_{1,1} \end{pmatrix}
\right| C \in M_{2,m-1}({\mathbb C}) \right\}, \\
\nu_oW & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix} 0_{2,2} & 0_{2,m-1} & D \\
0_{m-1,2} & 0_{m-1,m-1} & 0_{m-1,1} \\
D^* & 0_{1,m-1} & 0_{1,1} \end{pmatrix}
\right| D \in M_{2,1}({\mathbb C}) \cong {\mathbb C}^2 \right\},
\end{eqnarray*}
and the isotropy subalgebra is
$$
\left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix} A & 0_{2,m-1} & 0_{2,1} \\
0_{m-1,2} & B & 0_{m-1,1} \\
0_{1,2} & 0_{1,m-1} & 0_{1,1} \end{pmatrix}
\right| A \in {\mathfrak u}_2,\ B \in {\mathfrak u}_{m-1},\ {\rm tr}(A) + {\rm tr}(B) = 0 \right\}.
$$
From this we see that the slice representation of the isotropy subgroup on the normal space $\nu_oW$
is conjugate to the standard $U_2$-action on ${\mathbb C}^2$. Since $U_2$ acts transitively on the
unit sphere in ${\mathbb C}^2$, we conclude that the action of $SU_{2,m-1}$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
is of cohomogeneity one, that is, the codimension of a generic orbit is one. This implies that the principal
orbits of the $SU_{2,m-1}$-action on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ are the tubes around the totally geodesic
submanifold $W = SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$. We now proceed with calculating the principal curvatures and the
corresponding principal curvature spaces and multiplicities of the tube $W_r$ of radius $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$ around $W$.
Using the explicit description of the complex structure $J$ and the quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure ${\mathfrak J}$
given in Section \ref{horo} we see that the $4$-dimensional normal space $\nu_oW$ is invariant under both $J$ and ${\mathfrak J}$.
This implies that every normal vector $N$ in $\nu_oW$ is singular of type $JN \in {\mathfrak J}N$.
We fix a unit normal vector $N \in \nu_oW$ and denote by $\gamma : {\mathbb R} \to SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
the geodesic with $\gamma(0) = o$ and $\dot{\gamma}(0) = N$. The tangent vector $\dot{\gamma}(r)$ is a unit normal
vector of the tube $W_r$ at $\gamma(r)$, and we denote by $A_r$ the shape operator of $W_r$ with
respect to $-\dot{\gamma}(r)$. By $\dot{\gamma}^\perp$ we denote the subbundle of the tangent bundle of
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ along $\gamma$ consisting of all hyperplanes orthogonal to $\dot{\gamma}$, and by $R_\gamma^\perp$
we denote the Jacobi operator $R(\cdot,\dot{\gamma})\dot{\gamma}$ restricted to $\dot{\gamma}^\perp$.
Now consider the ${\rm End}(\dot{\gamma}^\perp)$-valued ordinary differential equation
$$ Y^{\prime\prime} + R_\gamma^\perp \circ Y = 0\ ,\ Y(0) = \begin{pmatrix} I_{4m-4} & 0_{4m-4,3} \\
0_{3,4m-3} & 0_{3,3} \end{pmatrix}\ ,\ Y^\prime (0) = \begin{pmatrix} 0_{4m-4,4m-4} & 0_{4m-4,3} \\
0_{3,4m-3} & I_3 \end{pmatrix}, $$
where the decomposition of the matrices is with respect to the parallel translation along $\gamma$ of the decomposition
$\dot{\gamma}^\perp (0) = T_oW \oplus (\nu_oW \cap \dot{\gamma}(0)^\perp)$.
There exists a unique solution $D$ of this differential equation, and the shape operator can be calculated
by means of $A_r = D^\prime(r) \circ D^{-1}(r)$. A straightforward calculation gives the following table
\begin{tb} \label{table4} The principal curvatures and their eigenspaces and multiplicities of the tube $W_r$ with radius $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$
around the totally geodesic submanifold $W = SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ are given by
\smallskip
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|l|l|}
\hline
\mbox{principal curvature} & \mbox{eigenspace} & \mbox{multiplicity} \\
\hline
$0$ & $\parallel_r\{Y \in T_oW \mid JY = -J_1Y\}$ & $2m-2$\\
$\tanh(r)$ & $\parallel_r\{Y \in T_oW \mid JY = J_1Y\}$ & $2m-2$ \\
$\coth(r)$ & $\parallel_r{\mathbb H}N \ominus {\mathbb C}N$ & $2$\\
$2\coth(2r)$ & $\parallel_r{\mathbb R}JN$ & $1$ \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\end{tb}
In this table $J_1 \in {\mathfrak J}$ denotes the almost Hermitian structure such that $JN = J_1N$,
and $\parallel_r$ denotes parallel translation along $\gamma$ from $T_oSU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
to $T_{\gamma(r)}SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. We denote by ${\mathcal C}_r$ and ${\mathcal Q}_r$ the
maximal complex subbundle and the maximal quaternionic subbundle of $TW_r$ respectively.
For a principal curvature $\lambda$ we denote by $E_\lambda$ the corresponding eigenspace. Since
both the K\"{a}hler structure and the quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure are invariant under
parallel translation, Table \ref{table4} shows that
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathcal Q}_r & = & E_0 \oplus E_{\tanh(r)}, \\
{\mathcal C}_r & = & E_0 \oplus E_{\tanh(r)} \oplus E_{\coth(r)}.
\end{eqnarray*}
This proves that both ${\mathcal C}_r$ and ${\mathcal Q}_r$ are invariant under the shape operator. We
summarize this in
\begin{thm} \label{grassmann}
Let $W_r$ be the tube of radius $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$ around the totally geodesic submanifold
$W = SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. The maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}_r$
and the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}_r$ of $TW_r$ are both invariant under the
shape operator of $W_r$, that is, $h({\mathcal C}_r,{\mathcal C}_r^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q}_r,{\mathcal Q}_r^\perp) = 0$.
\end{thm}
\section{The action of $Sp_{1,n}$ on $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$} \label{tube2}
In this section we investigate the action of $Sp_{1,n}$ on $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$. We realize
${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak p}_{1,n}$ as a subalgebra of ${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak u}_{2,2n}$ by means
of
$$
{\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak p}_{1,n} = \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
ix & z & C_1 & C_2 \\
-\bar{z} & -ix & \bar{C}_2 & -\bar{C}_1 \\
C_1^* & \bar{C}_2^* & B_1 & B_2 \\
C_2^* & -\bar{C}_1^* & -\bar{B}_2 & \bar{B}_1 \\
\end{pmatrix} \right|
\begin{matrix}
x \in {\mathbb R},\ z \in {\mathbb C},\ C_1,C_2 \in M_{1,n}({\mathbb C}) \\
B_1 \in {\mathfrak u}_n,\ B_2 \in M_{n,n}({\mathbb C})\ {\rm symmetric}
\end{matrix}
\right\}.
$$
Clearly, ${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak p}_{1,n}$ in invariant under the Cartan
involution $\theta$ on ${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak u}_{2,2n}$. Therefore the
orbit $W = Sp_{1,n} \cdot o$ through
$o$ is a totally geodesic submanifold of $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$. The isotropy subalgebra at $o$
is
$$
\left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
ix & z & 0_{1,n} & 0_{1.n} \\
-\bar{z} & -ix & 0_{1,n} & 0_{1,n} \\
0_{1,n} & 0_{1,n} & B_1 & B_2 \\
0_{1,n} & 0_{1,n} & -\bar{B}_2 & \bar{B}_1 \\
\end{pmatrix} \right|
\begin{matrix}
x \in {\mathbb R},\ z \in {\mathbb C}, B_1 \in {\mathfrak u}_n, \\
B_2 \in M_{n,n}({\mathbb C})\ {\rm symmetric} \\
\end{matrix}
\right\} ,
$$
and is isomorphic to ${\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak p}_{1} \oplus {\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak p}_n$ by means of
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak p}_{1} & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
ix & z \\
-\bar{z} & -ix & \\
\end{pmatrix} \right|
x \in {\mathbb R},\ z \in {\mathbb C} \right\}, \\
{\mathfrak s}{\mathfrak p}_n & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
B_1 & B_2 \\
-\bar{B}_2 & \bar{B}_1 \\
\end{pmatrix} \right|
B_1 \in {\mathfrak u}_n,\ B_2 \in M_{n,n}({\mathbb C})\ {\rm symmetric}
\right\}.
\end{eqnarray*}
Therefore $W$ is isometric to the $n$-dimensional quaternionic hyperbolic space ${\mathbb H}H^n = Sp_{1,n}/Sp_1Sp_n$.
The tangent space $T_oW$ and the normal space $\nu_oW$ are given by
\begin{eqnarray*}
T_oW & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & C_1 & C_2 \\
0 & 0 & \bar{C}_2 & -\bar{C}_1 \\
C_1^* & \bar{C}_2^* & 0_{n,n} & 0_{n,n} \\
C_2^* & -\bar{C}_1^* & 0_{n,n} & 0_{n,n} \\
\end{pmatrix} \right|
C_1,C_2 \in M_{1,n}({\mathbb C})
\right\} \cong {\mathbb H}^n, \\
\nu_oW & = & \left\{ \left. \begin{pmatrix}
0 & 0 & C_1 & C_2 \\
0 & 0 & -\bar{C}_2 & \bar{C}_1 \\
C_1^* & -\bar{C}_2^* & 0_{n,n} & 0_{n,n} \\
C_2^* & \bar{C}_1^* & 0_{n,n} & 0_{n,n} \\
\end{pmatrix} \right|
C_1,C_2 \in M_{1,n}({\mathbb C})
\right\} \cong {\mathbb H}^n.
\end{eqnarray*}
A straightforward calculation shows that the slice representation
of the isotropy subgroup $Sp_1Sp_n$ on $\nu_oW$ is conjugate
to the standard representation of $Sp_1Sp_n$ on ${\mathbb H}^n$.
Since $Sp_1Sp_n$ acts transitively on the
unit sphere in ${\mathbb H}^n$, we conclude that the action of $Sp_{1,n}$ on $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$
is of cohomogeneity one. This implies that the principal
orbits of the $Sp_{1,n}$-action on $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$ are the tubes around the totally geodesic
submanifold $W = {\mathbb H}H^n$. We now proceed with calculating the principal curvatures and the
corresponding principal curvature spaces and multiplicities of the tube $W_r$ of radius $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$ around $W$.
This can be done as in the previous section. The only difference is that here the ordinary differential
equation is given by
$$ Y^{\prime\prime} + R_\gamma^\perp \circ Y = 0\ ,\ Y(0) = \begin{pmatrix} I_{4n} & 0_{4n,4n-1} \\
0_{4n-1,4n} & 0_{4n-1,4n-1} \end{pmatrix}\ ,\ Y^\prime (0) = \begin{pmatrix} 0_{4n,4n} & 0_{4n,4n-1} \\
0_{4n-1,4n} & I_{4n-1} \end{pmatrix}. $$
\begin{tb} \label{table5} The principal curvatures and their eigenspaces and multiplicities of the tube $W_r$ with radius $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$
around the totally geodesic submanifold $W = Sp_{1,n}/Sp_1Sp_n = {\mathbb H}H^n$ in $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$ are given by
\smallskip
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|l|l|}
\hline
\mbox{principal curvature} & \mbox{eigenspace} & \mbox{multiplicity} \\
\hline
$0$ & $\parallel_r {\mathfrak J}JN$ & $3$\\
$\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\tanh(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)$ & $\parallel_r T_oW \ominus {\mathbb H}JN$ & $4n-4$ \\
$\sqrt{2}\tanh(\sqrt{2}r)$ & $\parallel_r {\mathbb R}JN$ & $1$ \\
$\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\coth(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)$ & $\parallel_r \nu_oW \ominus {\mathbb H}N$ & $4n-4$ \\
$\sqrt{2}\coth(\sqrt{2}r)$ & $\parallel_r {\mathfrak J}N$ & $3$ \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\end{tb}
We denote by ${\mathcal C}_r$ and ${\mathcal Q}_r$ the
maximal complex subbundle and the maximal quaternionic subbundle of $TW_r$ respectively.
By inspection of Table \ref{table5} we obtain
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\mathcal Q}_r & = & E_0 \oplus E_{\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\tanh(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)}
\oplus E_{\sqrt{2}\tanh(\sqrt{2}r)} \oplus E_{\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\coth(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)}, \\
{\mathcal C}_r & = & E_0 \oplus E_{\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\tanh(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)}
\oplus E_{\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\coth(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)} \oplus E_{\sqrt{2}\coth(\sqrt{2}r)}.
\end{eqnarray*}
This proves that both ${\mathcal C}_r$ and ${\mathcal Q}_r$ are invariant under the shape operator. We
summarize this in
\begin{thm} \label{hyperbolic}
Let $W_r$ be the tube of radius $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$ around the totally geodesic submanifold
$W = Sp_{1,n}/Sp_1Sp_n = {\mathbb H}H^n$ in $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$. The maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}_r$
and the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}_r$ of $TW_r$ are both invariant under the
shape operator of $W_r$, that is, $h({\mathcal C}_r,{\mathcal C}_r^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q}_r,{\mathcal Q}_r^\perp) = 0$.
\end{thm}
\section{Proof of Theorem \ref{mainresult}} \label{proof}
Let $M$ be a connected hypersurface in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ and assume that the maximal
complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}$ and the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$ of $TM$ are
invariant under the shape operator $A$ of $M$, that is,
$h({\mathcal C},{\mathcal C}^\perp) = 0$ and $h({\mathcal Q},{\mathcal Q}^\perp) = 0$.
The induced Riemannian metric on $M$ will also be denoted by $g$,
and $\nabla$ denotes the Riemannian connection of $(M,g)$.
Let $N$ be a local unit normal field of $M$ and $A$ the
shape operator of $M$ with respect to $N$.
Since all our calculations are of local nature, we will assume for simplicity that $N$ and other
objects as local canonical bases of ${\mathfrak J}$ are globally defined on $M$.
The K\"{a}hler structure $J$ of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ induces on
$M$ an almost contact metric structure
$(\phi,\xi,\eta,g)$, where the vector field $\xi$ on $M$ is defined by $\xi = -JN$,
the one-form $\eta$ on $M$ is defined by $\eta(X) = g(X,\xi)$, and the tensor field
$\phi$ on $M$ is defined by $\phi X = JX - \eta(X)N$. Furthermore, let $J_1,J_2,J_3$ be a canonical
local basis of ${\mathfrak J}$. Then each $J_\nu$ induces an almost contact
metric structure $(\phi_\nu,\xi_\nu,\eta_\nu,g)$ on $M$.
The following identities are easy to establish and are used frequently throughout this section:
$$
\phi_{\nu+1}\xi_\nu = -\xi_{\nu+2}\ ,\ \phi_\nu\xi_{\nu+1} =
\xi_{\nu+2}\ ,\
\phi\xi_\nu = \phi_\nu\xi\ ,\ \eta_\nu(\phi X) = \eta(\phi_\nu
X)\ .
$$
Here, and below, the index $\nu$ is to be taken modulo $3$. Using the explicit expression
for the Riemannian curvature tensor of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ given in Section \ref{curvature}, we can
write the Codazzi equation as
\begin{eqnarray*}
(\nabla_XA)Y - (\nabla_YA)X
&=& -\frac{1}{2} \biggl\lbrack \eta(X)\phi Y - \eta(Y)\phi X - 2g(\phi X,Y)\xi \\
&& \qquad + \sum_{\nu=1}^3\{ \eta_\nu(X)\phi_\nu Y - \eta_\nu(Y)\phi_\nu
X - 2g(\phi_\nu X,Y)\xi_\nu \} \\
&& \qquad + \sum_{\nu=1}^3 \{\eta(\phi_\nu X)\phi_\nu\phi Y
- \eta(\phi_\nu Y)\phi_\nu\phi X \} \\
&& \qquad + \sum_{\nu=1}^3 \{ \eta(X)\eta(\phi_\nu Y)
- \eta(Y)\eta(\phi_\nu X)\} \xi_\nu\ \biggl\rbrack.
\end{eqnarray*}
The Codazzi equation is a substantial tool for establishing relations between principal curvatures.
\begin{prop} \label{pcC}
Assume that the maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}$ of $TM$ is
invariant under the shape operator $A$ of $M$. Then $\xi$ is a principal curvature
vector field on $M$, say $A\xi = \alpha\xi$. Moreover, if $X \in {\mathcal C}$ is a principal curvature vector of $M$,
say $AX = \lambda X$, then
$$
(2\lambda-\alpha)A\phi X + (1 - \alpha\lambda)\phi X =
\sum_{\nu=1}^3 \{ 2\eta(\xi_\nu)\eta(\phi_\nu X)\xi -
\eta_\nu(X)\phi_\nu\xi - \eta(\phi_\nu X)\xi_\nu -
\eta(\xi_\nu)\phi_\nu X \} .
$$
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
Since the tangent bundle $TM$ decomposes orthogonally into $TM = {\mathbb R}\xi \oplus {\mathcal C}$, it is clear that
the assumption $A{\mathcal C} \subset {\mathcal C}$ implies $A\xi = \alpha\xi$ for some smooth function $\alpha$ on $M$.
Using the Codazzi equation we get for arbitrary tangent vector fields $X$ and $Y$ that
\begin{eqnarray*}
&& g(\phi X,Y) - \sum_{\nu = 1}^3 \{\eta_\nu(X)\eta(\phi_\nu Y)
- \eta_\nu(Y)\eta(\phi_\nu X) - g(\phi_\nu X,Y)\eta(\xi_\nu)\} \\
&=& g((\nabla_XA)Y - (\nabla_YA)X, \xi) \\
&=& g((\nabla_XA)\xi,Y) - g((\nabla_YA)\xi,X) \\
&=& (X\alpha)\eta(Y) - (Y\alpha)\eta(X) + \alpha g((A\phi + \phi
A)X,Y) - 2g(A\phi AX,Y) .
\end{eqnarray*}
For $X = \xi$ this equation yields
\begin{equation}
Y\alpha = (\xi\alpha)\eta(Y) + 2\sum_{\nu = 1}^3
\eta(\xi_\nu)\eta(\phi_\nu Y). \label{gradient}
\end{equation}
Inserting this and the corresponding equation for $X\alpha$ into the previous equation gives
\begin{eqnarray*}
&& g(\phi X,Y) - \sum_{\nu = 1}^3 \{ \eta_\nu(X)\eta(\phi_\nu Y) -
\eta_\nu(Y)\eta(\phi_\nu X)
- g(\phi_\nu X,Y)\eta(\xi_\nu)\} \\
& =& 2\sum_{\nu=1}^3 \{ \eta(Y)\eta(\phi_\nu X) -
\eta(X)\eta(\phi_\nu Y) \} \eta(\xi_\nu) + \alpha g((A\phi + \phi
A)X,Y) - 2g(A\phi AX,Y) .
\end{eqnarray*}
If we now insert $X \in {\mathcal C}$ with $AX = \lambda X$, the equation in Proposition \ref{pcC}
follows easily.
\end{proof}
Since the quaternionic K\"{a}hler structure structure ${\mathfrak J}$ is invariant under parallel
translation on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, there exist one-forms $q_1,q_2,q_3$ such that
$$
\bar\nabla_X J_\nu = q_{\nu+2}(X)J_{\nu+1} - q_{\nu+1}(X)J_{\nu+2}
$$
for all vector fields $X$ on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, where $\bar\nabla$ is the Levi Civita covariant derivative
on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
\begin{prop} \label{pcQ}
Assume that the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$ of $TM$ is
invariant under the shape operator $A$ of $M$. Then there exists a canonical local basis $J_1,J_2,J_3$
of ${\mathfrak J}$ such that $\xi_\nu$ is a principal curvature vector field of $M$, say $A\xi_\nu = \beta_\nu \xi_\nu$.
Moreover, if $X \in {\mathcal Q}$ is a principal curvature vector of $M$,
say $AX = \lambda X$, then
\begin{eqnarray*}
&& (2\lambda - \beta_\nu)A\phi_\nu X + (1-\lambda\beta_\nu)\phi_\nu X \\
&= & \{2\eta(\xi_\nu)\eta(\phi_\nu X) - \eta(\xi_{\nu+1})\eta(\phi_{\nu+1} X)
- \eta(\xi_{\nu+2})\eta(\phi_{\nu+2} X)\}\xi_\nu \\
&& + (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+1})q_{\nu+2}(X)\xi_{\nu+1}
- (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+2})q_{\nu+1}(X)\xi_{\nu+2} \\
&& - \eta(\xi_\nu)\phi X - \eta(\phi_\nu X)\xi
- \eta(X)\phi\xi_\nu + \eta(\phi_{\nu+2} X)\phi\xi_{\nu+1}
- \eta(\phi_{\nu+1} X)\phi\xi_{\nu+2}
\end{eqnarray*}
holds for all $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$.
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
Since the tangent bundle $TM$ decomposes orthogonally into $TM = {\mathfrak J}N \oplus {\mathcal Q}$, it is clear that
the assumption $A{\mathcal Q} \subset {\mathcal Q}$ implies that there exists a canonical local basis $J_1,J_2,J_3$
of ${\mathfrak J}$ such that $A\xi_\nu = \beta_\nu \xi_\nu$ for some functions $\beta_1,\beta_2,\beta_3$ on $M$.
Using the Codazzi equation we get for arbitrary tangent vector fields $X$ and $Y$ that
\begin{eqnarray*}
&& g(\phi X,Y)\eta(\xi_\nu) + g(\phi_\nu X,Y) -\eta(X)\eta_\nu(\phi Y) + \eta(Y)\eta_\nu(\phi X) \\
&& - \eta_{\nu+1}(X)\eta_{\nu+2}(Y) + \eta_{\nu+1}(Y)\eta_{\nu+2}(X) \\
&& - \eta(\phi_{\nu+1} X)\eta(\phi_{\nu+2} Y) + \eta(\phi_{\nu+1} Y)\eta(\phi_{\nu+2} X) \\
& = & g((\nabla_XA)Y - (\nabla_YA)X, \xi_\nu) \\
& = & g((\nabla_XA)\xi_\nu,Y) - g((\nabla_YA)\xi_\nu,X) \\
& = & (X\beta_\nu)\eta_\nu(Y) - (Y\beta_\nu)\eta_\nu(X) + \beta_\nu g((A\phi_\nu + \phi_\nu A)X,Y)
- 2g(A\phi_\nu AX,Y) \\
&& + (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+1})\{q_{\nu+2}(X)\eta_{\nu+1}(Y)
- q_{\nu+2}(Y)\eta_{\nu+1}(X)\} \\
&& - (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+2})\{q_{\nu+1}(X)\eta_{\nu+2}(Y)
- q_{\nu+1}(Y)\eta_{\nu+2}(X)\} .
\end{eqnarray*}
For $X = \xi_\nu$ this equation yields
\begin{eqnarray*}
Y\beta_\nu & = & (\xi_\nu\beta_\nu)\eta_\nu(Y) +
2\eta(\xi_\nu)\eta(\phi_\nu Y)
- \eta(\xi_{\nu+1})\eta(\phi_{\nu+1} Y) - \eta(\xi_{\nu+2})\eta(\phi_{\nu+2} Y) \\
&& + (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+1})q_{\nu+2}(\xi_\nu)\eta_{\nu+1}(Y)
- (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+2})q_{\nu+1}(\xi_\nu)\eta_{\nu+2}(Y) .
\end{eqnarray*}
Inserting this and the corresponding equation for $X\beta_\nu$ into the previous equation gives
\begin{eqnarray*}
&& g(\phi X,Y)\eta(\xi_\nu) + g(\phi_\nu X,Y) -\eta(X)\eta(\phi_\nu Y) + \eta(Y)\eta(\phi_\nu X) \\
&& - \eta_{\nu+1}(X)\eta_{\nu+2}(Y) + \eta_{\nu+1}(Y)\eta_{\nu+2}(X) \\
&& - \eta(\phi_{\nu+1} X)\eta(\phi_{\nu+2} Y) + \eta(\phi_{\nu+1} Y)\eta(\phi_{\nu+2} X) \\
& =& \beta_\nu g((A\phi_\nu + \phi_\nu A)X,Y) - 2g(A\phi_\nu AX,Y) \\
&& -\eta(\xi_{\nu+1})\{\eta(\phi_{\nu+1} X)\eta_\nu(Y) - \eta(\phi_{\nu+1} Y)\eta_\nu(X)\} \\
&& - \eta(\xi_{\nu+2})\{ \eta(\phi_{\nu+2} X)\eta_\nu(Y) - \eta(\phi_{\nu+2} Y)\eta_\nu(X)\} \\
&& - 2\eta(\xi_\nu)\{\eta(\phi_\nu Y)\eta_\nu(X) - \eta(\phi_\nu X)\eta_\nu(Y)\big\} \\
&& + (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+1}) \{q_{\nu+2}(\xi_\nu)(\eta_{\nu+1}(X)\eta_\nu(Y) - \eta_{\nu+1}(Y)\eta_\nu(X)) \\
&& \qquad \qquad \qquad + q_{\nu+2}(X)\eta_{\nu+1}(Y) - q_{\nu+2}(Y)\eta_{\nu+1}(X)\} \\
&& - (\beta_\nu - \beta_{\nu+2}) \{q_{\nu+1}(\xi_\nu)(\eta_{\nu+2}(X)\eta_\nu(Y) - \eta_{\nu+2}(Y)\eta_\nu(X)) \\
&& \qquad \qquad \qquad + q_{\nu+1}(X)\eta_{\nu+2}(Y) - q_{\nu+1}(Y)\eta_{\nu+2}(X)\big\}.
\end{eqnarray*}
If we now insert $X \in {\mathcal Q}$ with $AX = \lambda X$, the equation in Proposition \ref{pcQ}
follows by a straightforward calculation.
\end{proof}
We will now combine the two previous results.
\begin{prop} \label{key}
Assume that the maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}$ of $TM$ and the
maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$ of $TM$ are both
invariant under the shape operator $A$ of $M$. Then the normal bundle $\nu M$
of $M$ consists of singular tangent vectors of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
By Propositions \ref{pcC} and \ref{pcQ} we can assume that $A\xi =
\alpha \xi$ and $A\xi_\nu = \beta_\nu\xi_\nu$. Since $TM$ decomposes
orthogonally into $TM = {\mathfrak J}N \oplus {\mathcal Q}$, there
exist unit vectors $Z \in {\mathfrak J}N$ and $X \in {\mathcal Q}$
such that $\xi = \eta(Z)Z + \eta(X)X$. We then get
$$
\alpha\eta(Z)Z + \alpha\eta(X)X = \alpha\xi = A\xi = \eta(Z)AZ +
\eta(X)AX.
$$
Since both ${\mathfrak J}N$ and ${\mathcal Q}$ are invariant under
$A$, we have $AZ \in {\mathfrak J}N$ and $AX \in {\mathcal Q}$.
Assume that $\eta(X)\eta(Z) \neq 0$. The previous equation then
implies $AZ = \alpha Z$ and $AX = \alpha X$, and thus we can insert
$X$ into the equation of Proposition \ref{pcQ}. Without loss of
generality we may assume that $Z = \xi_3$. Taking the inner product
of the equation for the index $\nu = 1$ in Proposition \ref{pcQ}
with $\xi_2$ leads to
$$
\eta(X)\eta(Z) = (\beta_2 - \beta_1)q_3(X) ,
$$
and taking the inner product of the equation for the index $\nu = 2$
in Proposition \ref{pcQ} with $\xi_1$ gives
$$
\eta(X)\eta(Z) = (\beta_1 - \beta_2)q_3(X) ,
$$
Adding up the previous two equations yields $\eta(X)\eta(Z) = 0$,
which contradicts the assumption $\eta(X)\eta(Z) \neq 0$. Therefore
we must have $\eta(X)\eta(Z) = 0$, which means that $\xi$ is tangent
to ${\mathfrak J}N$ or tangent to ${\mathcal Q}$. Since $\xi = -JN$
this implies that either $JN \in {\mathfrak J}N$ or $JN \in
{\mathcal Q} \perp {\mathfrak J}N$, and we conclude that $N$ is a
singular tangent vector of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ at each point.
\end{proof}
We proceed by investigating separately the two types of singular
tangent vectors.
\subsection{The case $JN \perp {\mathfrak J}N$} \label{case2}
In this subsection we assume that $JN \perp {\mathfrak J}N$. In this
situation the vector fields
$\xi,\xi_1,\xi_2,\xi_3,\phi\xi_1,\phi\xi_2,\phi\xi_3$ are
orthonormal.
\begin{lm} \label{lemma1}
For each $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$ we have $A\phi\xi_\nu = \gamma_\nu\phi\xi_\nu$, and one of the following two cases holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $\alpha\beta_\nu = 2$ and $\gamma_\nu = 0$,
\item[(ii)] $\alpha = \beta_\nu \neq 0$ and $\gamma_\nu = \frac{\alpha^2 -
2}{\alpha}$.
\end{itemize}
\end{lm}
\begin{proof} When we insert $X = \xi_\nu$ with $A\xi_\nu =
\beta_\nu\xi_\nu$ into the equation in Proposition \ref{pcC}, we get
$$
(2\beta_\nu - \alpha) A\phi\xi_\nu = (\alpha \beta_\nu -
2)\phi\xi_\nu,
$$
and when we insert $X = \xi$ with $A\xi = \alpha\xi$ into the
equation in Proposition \ref{pcQ}, we get
$$
(2\alpha - \beta_\nu) A\phi\xi_\nu = (\alpha \beta_\nu -
2)\phi\xi_\nu.
$$
These two equations imply (i) for $\alpha\beta_\nu = 2$ and (ii) for $\alpha\beta_\nu \neq 2$.
\end{proof}
\begin{lm} \label{lemma2}
We have $\beta_1 = \beta_2 = \beta_3 =:\beta$, $\gamma_1 = \gamma_2 = \gamma_3 =: \gamma = 0$ and $\alpha\beta = 2$.
\end{lm}
\begin{proof}
By evaluating the equation in Proposition \ref{pcQ} for $X = \phi\xi_{\nu+1}$
and $\lambda = \gamma_{\nu+1}$ we get
\begin{equation} \label{eq1}
2\gamma_{\nu+1}\gamma_{\nu+2} = \beta_\nu(\gamma_{\nu+1} + \gamma_{\nu+2})
\end{equation}
for all $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$. Since $\beta_\nu \neq 0$ for all $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$ according
to Lemma \ref{lemma1}, this implies that either $\gamma_1 = \gamma_2 = \gamma_3 = 0$ or
$\gamma_\nu \neq 0$ for all $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$.
Assume that $\gamma_\nu \neq 0$ for all $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$. Then, using Lemma \ref{lemma1},
we have $\gamma_\nu = \frac{\alpha^2 -
2}{\alpha}$ and $\beta_\nu = \alpha$ for all $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$, and inserting this into (\ref{eq1})
yields $\alpha^2 = 2$. However, $\alpha^2 = 2$ implies $\gamma_\nu = 0$, which contradicts our assumption
that $\gamma_\nu \neq 0$ for all $\nu \in \{1,2,3\}$. We therefore must have
$\gamma_1 = \gamma_2 = \gamma_3 = 0$, and the assertion then follows from Lemma \ref{lemma1}.
\end{proof}
We now derive some equations for the principal curvatures
corresponding to principal curvature vectors which are orthogonal to
${\mathbb R}JN \oplus {\mathfrak J}N \oplus {\mathfrak J}JN$.
Note that the orthogonal complement of ${\mathbb R}JN \oplus {\mathfrak J}N \oplus
{\mathfrak J}JN$ in $TM$ is equal to ${\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}$.
\begin{lm} \label{lemma3}
Let $X \in {\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}$ with $AX = \lambda X$. Then we have
\begin{eqnarray}
(2 \lambda - \alpha)A\phi X & = & (\alpha \lambda - 1) \phi X,
\label{eq3} \\
2(\alpha\lambda - 1)A\phi_\nu X & = & (2\lambda - \alpha)\phi_\nu X.
\label{eq4}
\end{eqnarray}
\end{lm}
\begin{proof} Equation (\ref{eq3}) follows from Proposition
\ref{pcC}, and (\ref{eq4}) follows from Proposition
\ref{pcQ} using the fact that $\alpha\beta = 2$ according to Lemma
\ref{lemma2}.
\end{proof}
If we assume $2\lambda - \alpha = 0$, we get $\alpha\lambda = 1$
from (\ref{eq3}) and therefore $\alpha^2 = 2$. Since $\alpha\beta =
2$ this implies $\alpha = \beta$. For this reason we consider the
two cases $\alpha \neq \beta$ and $\alpha = \beta$ separately.
We first assume that $\alpha \neq \beta$. Then we must have
$2\lambda - \alpha \neq 0$ and therefore also $\alpha\lambda - 1
\neq 0$ by (\ref{eq4}). From (\ref{eq4}) we then get
$$
A\phi_{\nu+1} X = \frac{2\lambda - \alpha}{2(\alpha\lambda -
1)}\phi_{\nu+1} X.
$$
Applying (\ref{eq4}) to $\phi_{\nu+1}X$ we obtain
$$
A\phi_\nu\phi_{\nu+1}X = \lambda\phi_\nu\phi_{\nu+1}X.
$$
On the other hand, by (\ref{eq4}) we also have
$$
A\phi_{\nu+2} X = \frac{2\lambda - \alpha}{2(\alpha\lambda -
1)}\phi_{\nu+2} X.
$$
Since $\phi_\nu\phi_{\nu+1}X = \phi_{\nu+2}X$, the previous two
equations imply that $\lambda$ is a solution of the quadratic
equation
$$
2\alpha\lambda^2 - 4\lambda + \alpha = 0.
$$
This shows that $A$ restricted to ${\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}$
has at most two eigenvalues.
Moreover, each solution of $2\alpha\lambda^2 - 4\lambda + \alpha =
0$ satisfies $\frac{2\lambda - \alpha}{2(\alpha\lambda - 1)} =
\lambda$, which means that the corresponding eigenspace is
${\mathfrak J}$-invariant. From (\ref{eq3}) we see that
$\phi X$ is a principal curvature vector with principal curvature
$\frac{\alpha\lambda - 1}{2\lambda - \alpha}$. If we assume that
$\frac{\alpha\lambda - 1}{2\lambda - \alpha} = \lambda$, we get
$2\lambda^2 - 2\alpha\lambda + \alpha = 0$, which together with
$2\alpha\lambda^2 - 4\lambda + \alpha = 0$ leads to $\lambda = 0$
(which leads to $\alpha = 0$ and contradicts $\alpha\beta = 2$) or
$\alpha^2 = 2$ (which because of $\alpha\beta = 2$ leads to $\alpha
= \beta$ and contradicts the assumption $\alpha \neq \beta$).
Therefore we must have $\frac{\alpha\lambda - 1}{2\lambda - \alpha}
\neq \lambda$. Altogether this shows that $A$ restricted to ${\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}$
has precisely two eigenvalues, namely the two solutions
$\lambda_1$ and $\lambda_2$ of $2\alpha\lambda^2 - 4\lambda + \alpha
= 0$, and that $J$ maps the two eigenspaces onto each other. It is
easy to see that $\lambda_1 + \lambda_2 = \frac{2}{\alpha} = \beta
\neq 0$.
From (\ref{gradient}) we see that the gradient ${\rm
grad}^\alpha$ of $\alpha$ on $M$ satisfies ${\rm grad}^\alpha =
(\xi\alpha)\xi$. For the Hessian ${\rm hess}^\alpha(X,Y)$ of
$\alpha$ we then get
\begin{eqnarray*}
{\rm hess}^\alpha(X,Y) & = & g(\nabla_X((\xi\alpha)\xi) , Y) \\
& = & X(\xi\alpha)\eta(Y) + (\xi\alpha)g(\nabla_X\xi ,Y) \\ & = &
X(\xi\alpha)\eta(Y) + (\xi\alpha)g(\phi AX ,Y).
\end{eqnarray*}
Since the Hessian of a function is symmetric, this implies
$$
X(\xi\alpha)\eta(Y) - Y(\xi\alpha)\eta(X) + (\xi\alpha)g((A \phi +
\phi A)X ,Y) = 0.
$$
Inserting $X = \xi$ yields $Y(\xi\alpha) = \xi(\xi\alpha)\eta(Y)$,
and inserting this and the corresponding equation for $X(\xi\alpha)$
into the previous one shows that
$$
(\xi\alpha)g((A \phi + \phi A)X ,Y) = 0.
$$
As we have seen above, on ${\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}$
we get $(A\phi + \phi A)X =
\beta X$, and since $\beta \neq 0$ we conclude that $\xi\alpha = 0$
and hence ${\rm grad}^\alpha = (\xi\alpha)\xi= 0$. Since $M$ is
connected we obtain that $\alpha$ is constant. From
$2\alpha\lambda^2 - 4\lambda + \alpha = 0$ we get $\alpha^2 < 2$,
and hence we can write $\alpha = \sqrt{2}\tanh(\sqrt{2}r)$ for some
positive real number $r$ and some suitable orientation of the normal
vector. Writing $\alpha$ in this way, the two solutions of
$2\alpha\lambda^2 - 4\lambda + \alpha = 0$ can be written as
$\lambda_1 = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\tanh(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)$ and
$\lambda_2 = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\coth(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)$. From
$\alpha\beta = 2$ we also get $\beta = \sqrt{2}\coth(\sqrt{2}r)$.
We now assume that $\alpha = \beta$. Since $\alpha\beta = 2$ we may
assume that $\alpha = \sqrt{2}$ (by a suitable orientation of the
normal vector). Assume that there exists a principal curvature
$\lambda$ of $A$ restricted to ${\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}$
such that $\lambda \neq
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$. From (\ref{eq3}) we then get
$$
A\phi X = \frac{\alpha\lambda - 1}{2\lambda - \alpha}\phi X =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\phi X,
$$
and from (\ref{eq4}) we obtain
$$
A\phi_\nu X = \frac{2\lambda - \alpha}{2(\alpha\lambda - 1)}\phi_\nu
X = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\phi_\nu X.
$$
Thus we have proved:
\begin{prop} \label{pccase2}
One of the following three cases holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $M$ has five (four for $r = \sqrt{2}{\rm Artanh}(1/\sqrt{3})$ in which case $\alpha = \lambda_2$)
distinct constant principal curvatures
\begin{eqnarray*}
\alpha = \sqrt{2}\tanh(\sqrt{2}r)\ ,\ \beta =
\sqrt{2}\coth(\sqrt{2}r)\ ,\ \gamma = 0\ ,& &\\ \lambda_1 =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\tanh(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r)\ ,\ \lambda_2 =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\coth(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r), & &
\end{eqnarray*}
and the corresponding principal curvature spaces are
$$
T_\alpha = {\mathcal C}^\perp\ ,\ T_\beta = {\mathcal Q}^\perp\ ,\ T_\gamma =
J{\mathcal Q}^\perp = JT_\beta.
$$
The principal curvature spaces $T_{\lambda_1}$ and $T_{\lambda_2}$
are invariant under ${\mathfrak J}$ and are mapped onto each other
by $J$. In particular, the quaternionic dimension of
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ must be even.
\item[(ii)] $M$ has exactly three distinct constant principal curvatures
$$
\alpha = \beta = \sqrt{2}\ ,\ \gamma = 0\ ,\ \lambda =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}
$$
with corresponding principal curvature spaces
$$
T_\alpha = ({\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q})^\perp\ ,\ T_\gamma =
J{\mathcal Q}^\perp\ ,\ T_\lambda = {\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}.
$$
\item[(iii)] $M$ has at least four distinct principal curvatures,
three of which are given by
$$
\alpha = \beta = \sqrt{2}\ ,\ \gamma = 0\ ,\ \lambda =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}
$$
with corresponding principal curvature spaces
$$
T_\alpha = ({\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q})^\perp\ ,\ T_\gamma =
J{\mathcal Q}^\perp\ ,\ T_\lambda \subset {\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}.
$$
If $\mu$ is another (possibly nonconstant) principal
curvature function , then $JT_{\mu} \subset T_\lambda$
and ${\mathfrak J}T_{\mu} \subset T_\lambda$.
\end{itemize}
\end{prop}
Assume that $M$ satisfies property (i) in Proposition \ref{pccase2}.
Then the quaternionic dimension of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ is even, say
$m = 2n$. For $p \in M$ we denote by $c_p : {\mathbb R} \to
SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$ the geodesic in $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$
with $c_p(0) = p$ and $\dot{c}_p(0) = N_p$, and define the smooth
map
$$
F : M \to SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n}), p \mapsto c_p(r).
$$
Geometrically, $F$ is the displacement of $M$ at distance $r$ in
direction of the unit normal vector field $N$. For each $p \in M$
the differential $d_pF$ of $F$ at $p$ can be computed using Jacobi
vector fields by means of $d_pF(X) = Z_X(r)$, where $Z_X$ is the
Jacobi vector field along $c_p$ with initial value $Z_X(0) = X$ and
$Z_X^\prime(0) = -AX$. Using the explicit description of the Jacobi
operator $R_N$ given in Table \ref{Jacobi} for the case $JN \perp
{\mathfrak J}N$ we get
$$
Z_X(r) = \begin{cases} E_X(r) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_\gamma,\\
\left(\cosh\left(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r\right) -
\sqrt{2}\kappa\sinh\left(\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}r\right)\right)E_X(r) &
,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_\kappa\ {\rm and}\ \kappa \in
\{\lambda_1,\lambda_2\},\\
\left(\cosh\left(\sqrt{2}r\right) -
\frac{\kappa}{\sqrt{2}}\sinh\left(\sqrt{2}r\right)\right)E_X(r) & ,\
{\rm if}\ X \in T_\kappa\ {\rm and}\ \kappa \in \{\alpha,\beta\},
\end{cases}
$$
where $E_X$ denotes the parallel vector field along $c_p$ with
$E_X(0) = X$. This shows that the kernel ${\rm ker}\,dF$ of $dF$ is
given by
$$
{\rm ker}\,dF = T_\beta \oplus T_{\lambda_2} = {\mathcal Q}^\perp \oplus
T_{\lambda_2},
$$
and that $F$ is of constant rank equal to the rank of the vector
bundle $T_\alpha \oplus T_\gamma \oplus T_{\lambda_1}$, which is
equal to $4n$. Thus, locally, $F$ is a submersion onto a
$4n$-dimensional submanifold $B$ of $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$.
Moreover, the tangent space of $B$ at $F(p)$ is obtained by parallel
translation of $(T_\alpha \oplus T_\gamma \oplus T_{\lambda_1})(p) =
({\mathbb H}\xi \oplus T_{\lambda_1})(p)$, which is a quaternionic
(with respect to ${\mathfrak J}$) and real (with respect to $J$)
subspace of $T_pSU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$. Since both $J$ and
${\mathfrak J}$ are parallel along $c_p$, also $T_{F(p)}B$ is a
quaternionic (with respect to ${\mathfrak J}$) and real (with
respect to $J$) subspace of $T_{F(p)}SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$. Thus
$B$ is a quaternionic and real submanifold of
$SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$. Since every quaternionic submanifold of a
quaternionic K\"{a}hler manifold is necessarily totally geodesic
(see e.g.\ \cite{G}), we see that $B$ is a totally geodesic
submanifold of $SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$. The well-known concept of
duality between symmetric spaces of noncompact type and symmetric
spaces of compact type establishes a one-to-one correspondence
between totally geodesic submanifolds of a symmetric space of
noncompact type and its dual symmetric space of compact type. Using
the concept of duality between the symmetric spaces
$SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$ and $SU_{2+2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$, it follows
from the classification of totally geodesic submanifolds in complex
$2$-plane Grassmannians (see \cite{K}), that $B$ is an open part of a
quaternionic hyperbolic space ${\mathbb H}H^n$ embedded in
$SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$ as a totally geodesic submanifold. Rigidity
of totally geodesic submanifolds implies that $M$ is an open part of
the tube with radius $r$ around ${\mathbb H}H^n$ in
$SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$.
Now assume that $M$ satisfies property (ii) in Proposition
\ref{pccase2}. As above we define $c_p,F,X_Z,E_X$, and we get
$$
Z_X(t) = \begin{cases} E_X(t) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_\gamma,\\
\exp\left(-\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}t\right)E_X(t) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in
T_\lambda,\\
\exp\left(-\sqrt{2}t\right)E_X(t) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_\alpha
\end{cases}
$$
for all $t \in {\mathbb R}$. Now consider a geodesic variation in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ consisting of geodesics $c_p$. The
corresponding Jacobi field is a linear combination of the three
types of the Jacobi fields $Z_X$ listed above, and hence its length
remains bounded when $t \to \infty$. This shows that all geodesics
$c_p$ in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ are asymptotic to each other and hence
determine a singular point $z \in SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)(\infty)$ at
infinity. Therefore $M$ is an integral manifold of the distribution
on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ given by the orthogonal complements of the
tangent vectors of the geodesics in the asymptote class $z$. This
distribution is integrable and the maximal leaves are the
horospheres in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ whose center at infinity is $z$.
Uniqueness of integral manifolds of integrable distributions finally
implies that $M$ is an open part of a horosphere in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ whose center is the singular point $z$ at
infinity.
Altogether we have now proved the following result:
\begin{thm} \label{resultcase2}
Let $M$ be a connected hypersurface in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, $m \geq
2$. Assume that the maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}$ of $TM$
and the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$ of $TM$ are
both invariant under the shape operator of $M$. If $JN \perp
{\mathfrak J}N$, then one of the following statements holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $M$ is an open part of a tube around a totally geodesic ${\mathbb H}H^n$ in
$SU_{2,2n}/S(U_2U_{2n})$, $m = 2n$;
\item [(ii)] $M$ is an open part of a horosphere in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
whose center at infinity is singular and of type $JN \perp
{\mathfrak J}N$;
\item[(iii)] $M$ has at least four distinct principal curvatures,
three of which are given by
$$
\alpha = \beta = \sqrt{2}\ ,\ \gamma = 0\ ,\ \lambda =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}
$$
with corresponding principal curvature spaces
$$
T_\alpha = ({\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q})^\perp\ ,\ T_\gamma =
J{\mathcal Q}^\perp\ ,\ T_\lambda \subset {\mathcal C} \cap {\mathcal Q} \cap J{\mathcal Q}.
$$
If $\mu$ is another (possibly nonconstant) principal
curvature function , then $JT_{\mu} \subset T_\lambda$
and ${\mathfrak J}T_{\mu} \subset T_\lambda$.
\end{itemize}
\end{thm}
We investigated thoroughly case (iii), but failed to establish the existence or non-existence
of a real hypersurface having principal curvatures as described in case (iii). However,
we now conjecture that case (iii) in Theorem \ref{resultcase2} cannot
occur.
\subsection{The case $JN \in {\mathfrak J}N$} \label{case1}
In this subsection we assume that $JN \in {\mathfrak J}N$. There
exists an almost Hermitian structure $J_1 \in {\mathfrak J}$ so that
$JN = J_1N$. We then have
$$
\xi = \xi_1\ ,\ \alpha = \beta_1\ ,\ \phi\xi_2 = -\xi_3\ ,\
\phi\xi_3 = \xi_2\ ,\ \phi{\mathcal Q} \subset {\mathcal Q}\ ,\ {\mathcal Q} \subset {\mathcal C}.
$$
By inserting $X = \xi_2$ (or $X = \xi_3$) into the equation in
Proposition \ref{pcC} we get
\begin{equation} \label{eq2}
2\beta_2\beta_3 - \alpha(\beta_2+\beta_3) + 2 = 0.
\end{equation}
From Propositions \ref{pcC} and \ref{pcQ} we immediately get
\begin{lm} \label{lemmacase2}
Let $X \in {\mathcal Q}$ with $AX = \lambda X$. Then we have
\begin{eqnarray}
(2 \lambda - \alpha)A\phi X & = & (\alpha \lambda - 1) \phi X -
\phi_1X,
\label{eq11} \\
(2 \lambda - \alpha)A\phi_1 X & = & (\alpha \lambda - 1) \phi_1 X -
\phi X, \label{eq12} \\
(2\lambda - \beta_\nu)A\phi_\nu X & = & (\beta_\nu\lambda -
1)\phi_\nu X\ ,\ \nu=2,3. \label{eq13}
\end{eqnarray}
\end{lm}
By adding equations (\ref{eq11}) and (\ref{eq12}) we get
\begin{equation}
(2 \lambda - \alpha)A(\phi + \phi_1)X = (\alpha \lambda - 2) (\phi +
\phi_1)X, \label{eq14}
\end{equation}
and by subtracting (\ref{eq12}) from (\ref{eq11}) we get
\begin{equation}
(2 \lambda - \alpha)A(\phi - \phi_1)X = \alpha \lambda (\phi -
\phi_1)X. \label{eq15}
\end{equation}
Note that on ${\mathcal Q}$ we have $(\phi \phi_1)^2 = I$ and ${\rm
tr}(\phi\phi_1) = 0$. Let $E_{+1}$ and $E_{-1}$ be the eigenbundles
of $\phi \phi_1|{\mathcal Q}$ with respect to the eigenvalues $+1$ and $-1$
respectively. Then the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$
of $TM$ decomposes orthogonally into the Whitney sum ${\mathcal Q} =
E_{+1} \oplus E_{-1}$, and the rank of both eigenbundles $E_{\pm 1}$
is equal to $2m+2$. We have $X \in E_{+1}$ if and only if $\phi X =
-\phi_1 X$ and $X \in E_{-1}$ if and only if $\phi X = \phi_1 X$.
\begin{lm} \label{2lambdaalpha}
Let $X \in {\mathcal Q}$ with $AX = \lambda X$. If $2\lambda =
\alpha$, then $\lambda = 1$, $\alpha = 2$ and $X \in E_{-1}$.
\end{lm}
\begin{proof} From ($\ref{eq14}$) and ($\ref{eq15}$) we see that
one of the following two statements holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $\lambda = 0$, $\alpha = 0$ and $X \in E_{+1}$;
\item[(ii)] $\lambda = 1$, $\alpha = 2$ and $X \in E_{-1}$.
\end{itemize}
In case (ii) we assume without loss of generality that $\alpha \geq
0$. We have to exclude case (i). Assume that $\lambda = 0$, $\alpha
= 0$ and $X \in E_{+1}$. From ($\ref{eq2}$) we get
$\beta_2\beta_3 = -1$, and therefore both $\beta_2$ and $\beta_3$
are nonzero. From ($\ref{eq13}$) we get
$$
A\phi_\nu X = \frac{1}{\beta_\nu}\phi_\nu X\ ,\ \nu = 2,3.
$$
By applying ($\ref{eq13}$) for $\nu = 2$ to $\phi_3 X$ we
obtain
$$ \frac{3}{\beta_3}A\phi_1 X = \left(\frac{2}{\beta_3} - \beta_2\right) A\phi_2\phi_3 X =
\left(\frac{\beta_2}{\beta_3} - 1\right) \phi_2\phi_3 X =
\left(\frac{\beta_2 - \beta_3}{\beta_3}\right)\phi_1X,
$$
and by applying ($\ref{eq13}$) for $\nu = 3$ to $\phi_2 X$
we obtain
$$ \frac{3}{\beta_2}A\phi_1 X = - \left(\frac{2}{\beta_2} - \beta_3\right) A\phi_3\phi_2 X =
- \left(\frac{\beta_3}{\beta_2} - 1\right) \phi_3\phi_2 X =
\left(\frac{\beta_3 - \beta_2}{\beta_2}\right)\phi_1X,
$$
The previous two equations imply $\beta_2 = \beta_3$, which
contradicts $\beta_2\beta_3 = -1$. It follows that case (i) cannot
hold.
\end{proof}
We denote by $\Lambda$ the set of all eigenvalues of $A|{\mathcal
Q}$, and for each $\rho \in \Lambda$ we denote by $T_\rho$ the
corresponding eigenspace.
We will first assume that there exists $\lambda \in \Lambda$ with $2
\lambda = \alpha$. Then we have $\alpha = 2$, $\lambda = 1$ and
$T_\lambda \subset E_{-1}$ according to Lemma \ref{2lambdaalpha}.
Since $\alpha = 2$, (\ref{eq2}) becomes
$$
0 = \beta_2\beta_3 - (\beta_2 + \beta_3) + 1 = (\beta_2 - 1)(\beta_3
- 1).
$$
Therefore we have $\beta_2 = 1$ or $\beta_3 = 1$. Without loss of
generality we may assume that $\beta_2 = 1$. From
(\ref{eq13}) we get $A\phi_2 X = 0$ for all $X \in T_1$. Applying
(\ref{eq12}) to $\phi_2 X$ and using the fact that $X \in
E_{-1}$ we get $A\phi_3 X = 0$ for all $X \in T_1$. Thus we have
shown that
\begin{equation} \label{eq16}
0 \in \Lambda\ ,\ \phi_2 T_1 \subset T_0\ ,\ \phi_3 T_1 \subset T_0.
\end{equation}
Next, we apply (\ref{eq13}) for $\nu = 2$ to $\phi_3 X$,
which yields $A\phi_1 X = \phi_1 X$, and applying
(\ref{eq13}) for $\nu = 3$ to $\phi_2 X$ gives $\beta_3 A\phi_1 X =
\phi_1 X$. Comparing the previous two equations shows that $\beta_3
= 1$. Thus we have proved that
\begin{equation} \label{eq17}
\beta_2 = \beta_3 = 1\ ,\ \phi_1 T_1 \subset T_1.
\end{equation}
Now we choose $\rho \in \Lambda \setminus \{1\}$ and $Y \in T_\rho$.
From (\ref{eq16}) we know that $\Lambda \setminus \{1\} \neq
\emptyset$. From (\ref{eq13}) and (\ref{eq17}) we get $(2\rho -
1)A\phi_\nu Y = (\rho - 1)\phi_\nu Y$ for $\nu = 2,3$. Since $\rho
\neq 1$ this implies $2\rho \neq 1$ and
\begin{equation} \label{eq18}
\rho^* = \frac{\rho - 1}{2\rho -1} \in \Lambda\ ,\ \phi_2 T_\rho
\subset T_{\rho^*}\ ,\ \phi_3 T_\rho \subset T_{\rho^*}.
\end{equation}
Note that $(\rho^*)^* = \rho$ and $0^* = 1 = \lambda$. Finally, we
apply (\ref{eq13}) for $\nu = 2$ to $\phi_3 Y$ and obtain
$A \phi_1 Y = \rho \phi_1 Y$, and therefore
\begin{equation} \label{eq19}
\phi_1 T_\rho \subset T_\rho.
\end{equation}
From (\ref{eq12}) and (\ref{eq19}) we obtain $(2\rho - 2)\rho\phi_1
Y = (2\rho - 1)\phi_1 Y - \phi Y$ and therefore
$$
\phi Y = (-2\rho^2 + 4\rho - 1)\phi_1Y.
$$
Since $\phi Y$ and $\phi_1 Y$ have the same length, this implies
$$
Y \in E_{\pm 1}\ ,\ -2\rho^2 + 4\rho - 1 = \pm 1.
$$
The equation $-2\rho^2 + 4\rho - 1 = 1$ has $\rho = 1$ as a solution
with multiplicity $2$, and the equation $-2\rho^2 + 4\rho - 1 = -1$
has $\rho = 0$ and $\rho = 2$ as solutions. However, for $\rho = 2$
we would have $ \frac{1}{3} = \rho^* \in \Lambda$ according to
(\ref{eq18}), but since $\frac{1}{3}$ is not a solution of $-2\rho^2
+ 4\rho - 1 = \pm 1$, we can dismiss the case $\rho = 2$. Altogether
we have shown that $\Lambda = \{0,1\}$. From
(\ref{eq16})--(\ref{eq19}) it is clear that $T_0$ and $T_1$ have the
same dimension, and hence $\dim T_0 = \dim T_1 = 2m+2$. Since $T_1
\subset E_{-1}$ and the rank of $E_{-1}$ is $2m+2$, we get $T_1 =
E_{-1}$. From the two orthogonal decomposition ${\mathcal Q} =
E_{+1} \oplus E_{-1} = T_0 \oplus T_1$ we also get $T_0 = E_{+1}$.
Thus we have proved
\begin{prop} \label{2lambdaequalalpha}
Assume that there exists a principal curvature $\lambda \in \Lambda$
with $2 \lambda = \alpha$. Then $M$ has three distinct constant
principal curvatures $0$, $1$ and $2$ with multiplicity $2m+2$,
$2m+4$ and $1$, respectively. The corresponding principal curvature
spaces are $E_{+1}$, $E_{-1} \oplus ({\mathcal C} \ominus {\mathcal Q})$
and ${\mathcal C}^\perp$, respectively.
\end{prop}
We will now assume that $2\lambda \neq \alpha$ for all $\lambda \in
\Lambda$. The linear maps
$$
{\mathcal Q} \to E_{+1}\ ,\ X \mapsto (\phi - \phi_1)X\ \ {\rm and}\
\ {\mathcal Q} \to E_{-1}\ ,\ X \mapsto (\phi + \phi_1)X
$$
are epimorphisms, and according to (\ref{eq14}) and (\ref{eq15})
each of them maps principal curvature vectors in ${\mathcal Q}$
either to $0$ or to a principal curvature vector in $E_{+1}$ resp.\
$E_{-1}$. It follows that there exists a basis of principal
curvature vectors in ${\mathcal Q}$ such that each vector in that
basis is in $E_{+1}$ or in $E_{-1}$. In other words, we have
$$
T_\lambda = (T_\lambda \cap E_{+1}) \oplus (T_\lambda \cap E_{-1})\
{\rm for\ all}\ \lambda \in \Lambda.
$$
From (\ref{eq11}) and the $\phi$-invariance of $E_{\pm 1}$ we get
\begin{lm} \label{lemmacase2refined} Let $\lambda \in \Lambda$. Then we have
\begin{eqnarray}
A\phi X & = & \frac{\alpha \lambda}{2 \lambda - \alpha} \phi X \in
E_{+1} \
{\rm for\ all}\ X \in T_\lambda \cap E_{+1} \label{eq20} \\
A\phi X & = & \frac{\alpha \lambda - 2}{2 \lambda - \alpha} \phi X
\in E_{-1} \ {\rm for\ all}\ X \in T_\lambda \cap E_{-1}
\label{eq21}
\end{eqnarray}
\end{lm}
This shows that the cardinality $|\Lambda|$ of $\Lambda$ satisfies
$|\Lambda| \geq 2$. From (\ref{eq13}) we easily get
\begin{lm} \label{lambdabeta}
Let $\lambda \in \Lambda$. If $2\lambda = \beta_\nu$, then ($\lambda
= \frac{1}{\sqrt2}$ and $\beta_\nu = \sqrt{2}$) or ($\lambda =
-\frac{1}{\sqrt2}$ and $\beta_\nu = -\sqrt{2}$). Moreover, if
$\beta_\nu = \sqrt{2}$, then $\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} \in \Lambda$ and
$\phi_\nu T_\lambda \subset T_{1/\sqrt{2}}$ for all $\lambda \in
\Lambda \setminus \{1/\sqrt{2}\}$. Similarly, if $\beta_\nu =
-\sqrt{2}$, then $-\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} \in \Lambda$ and $\phi_\nu
T_\lambda \subset T_{-1/\sqrt{2}}$ for all $\lambda \in \Lambda
\setminus \{-1/\sqrt{2}\}$.
\end{lm}
\begin{lm} \label{lambda23}
Let $\lambda \in \Lambda$, $\nu \in \{2,3\}$, and assume that
$2\lambda \neq \beta_\nu$. Then we have
\begin{equation} \label{eq23}
\lambda_\nu = \frac{\beta_\nu \lambda - 1}{2\lambda - \beta_\nu} \in
\Lambda\ {\rm and}\ \phi_\nu T_\lambda \subset T_{\lambda_\nu}.
\end{equation}
Moreover, if both $2\lambda \neq \beta_2$ and $2\lambda \neq
\beta_3$, then one of the two following statements holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $T_\lambda \subset E_{+1}$ and $2\lambda_2\lambda_3 - \alpha(\lambda_2 + \lambda_3) +
2 = 0$;
\item[(ii)] $T_\lambda \subset E_{-1}$ and $2\lambda_2\lambda_3 - \alpha(\lambda_2 + \lambda_3) =
0$.
\end{itemize}
\end{lm}
\begin{proof}
The first statement follows from (\ref{eq13}). From (\ref{eq12}) we
obtain for $X \in T_\lambda$ that
\begin{eqnarray*} 0 & = & (2\lambda_2 - \alpha)A\phi_1\phi_2 X -
(\alpha\lambda_2 - 1)\phi_1\phi_2 X + \phi\phi_2 X \\
& = & (2\lambda_2 - \alpha)A\phi_3 X - (\alpha\lambda_2 - 1)\phi_3 X
+ \phi_2\phi X \\
& = & (2\lambda_2 - \alpha)\lambda_3 \phi_3 X - (\alpha\lambda_2 -
1)\phi_3 X + \phi_2\phi X \\
& = & (2\lambda_2\lambda_3 - \alpha(\lambda_2 + \lambda_3) +
1)\phi_3 X + \phi_2\phi X\\
& = & -(2\lambda_2\lambda_3 - \alpha(\lambda_2 + \lambda_3) +
1)\phi_2\phi_1 X + \phi_2\phi X.
\end{eqnarray*}
This implies
$$
0 = (2\lambda_2\lambda_3 - \alpha(\lambda_2 + \lambda_3) + 1)\phi_1
X - \phi X,
$$
from which the assertion easily follows.
\end{proof}
\begin{lm} \label{usefullemma}
Let $\lambda,\lambda_2,\lambda_3 \in \Lambda$ and assume that
$\phi_\nu T_\lambda \subset T_{\lambda_\nu}$ for $\nu = 2,3$. If
$2\lambda_3 \neq \beta_2$ and $2\lambda_2 \neq \beta_3$, then at
least one of the following three statements holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $2\lambda^2 = 1$;
\item[(ii)] $\beta_2\beta_3 = 2$;
\item[(iii)] $\beta_2 = \beta_3$.
\end{itemize}
\end{lm}
\begin{proof}
Let $X \in T_\lambda$. From Lemma \ref{lambda23} we obtain
\begin{eqnarray*}
A \phi_1 X & = & A\phi_2\phi_3 X = \frac{\beta_2\lambda_3 -
1}{2\lambda_3 - \beta_2}\phi_2\phi_3 X = \frac{(\beta_2\beta_3 -
2)\lambda + (\beta_3 - \beta_2)}{(\beta_2\beta_3 - 2) + 2(\beta_3 -
\beta_2)\lambda}\phi_1X; \\
A \phi_1 X & = & -A\phi_3\phi_2 X = -\frac{\beta_3\lambda_2 -
1}{2\lambda_2 - \beta_3}\phi_3\phi_2 X = \frac{(\beta_2\beta_3 -
2)\lambda + (\beta_2 - \beta_3)}{(\beta_2\beta_3 - 2) + 2(\beta_2 -
\beta_3)\lambda}\phi_1X.
\end{eqnarray*}
Comparing these two equations leads to $ 0 = (2\lambda^2 -
1)(\beta_2\beta_3 - 2)(\beta_3 - \beta_2)$, which implies the
assertion.
\end{proof}
\begin{lm} \label{generalcase}
If $\beta_2^2 \neq 2 \neq \beta_3^2$, then $\beta_2 = \beta_3$.
\end{lm}
\begin{proof}
If $\lambda = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} \in \Lambda$, then Lemma \ref{lambda23} implies
$\lambda_2 = \lambda_3 = -\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$ and $\alpha < 0$.
If $\lambda = - \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} \in \Lambda$, then Lemma \ref{lambda23} implies
$\lambda_2 = \lambda_3 = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$ and $\alpha > 0$.
Thus we have $\Lambda \neq \{\pm \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\}$, and it
follows from Lemma \ref{usefullemma} that $\beta_2\beta_3 = 2$ or
$\beta_2 = \beta_3$.
Let us assume that $\beta_2\beta_3 = 2$. From (\ref{eq2}) we obtain
$\alpha(\beta_2 + \beta_3) = 6$ and hence $\alpha \neq 0$. Moreover,
from $\beta_2\beta_3 = 2$ and (\ref{eq2}) we see that $\beta_2$ and
$\beta_3$ are the solutions of the quadratic equation
\begin{equation} \label{quadratic}
\alpha x^2 - 6x + 2\alpha = 0.
\end{equation}
From (\ref{eq23}) we obtain $\lambda_2\lambda_3 = \frac{1}{2}$. If
we choose $\lambda \in \Lambda$ with $T_\lambda \subset E_{+1}$,
Lemma \ref{lambda23} (i) implies that $\lambda_2$ and $\lambda_3$
are the solutions of the quadratic equation
$$
2\alpha x^2 - 6x + \alpha = 0.
$$
It follows that both $2\lambda_2$ and $2\lambda_3$ are solutions of
the quadratic equation (\ref{quadratic}), which means that $\beta_2
= 2\lambda_2$ or $\beta_2 = 2\lambda_3$. In both cases we deduce
$\beta_2^2 = 2$ from Lemma \ref{lambdabeta}, which is a
contradiction to the assumption. Therefore we must have
$\beta_2\beta_3 \neq 2$, and we conclude that $\beta_2 = \beta_3$.
\end{proof}
\begin{lm} \label{uniquelambda}
Assume that there exist $\lambda \in \Lambda$ and $\nu \in \{2,3\}$
such $2\lambda = \beta_\nu$. Then we have $\lambda =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$, $\beta_2 = \beta_3 = \sqrt{2}$, $\alpha =
\frac{3}{\sqrt{2}}$ and $E_{-1} \subset T_\lambda$.
\end{lm}
\begin{proof}
Without loss of generality we may assume that $2\lambda = \beta_2$.
Using Lemma \ref{lambdabeta} we can also assume that $\lambda =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$ and $\beta_2 = \sqrt{2}$ (by choosing a suitable
orientation of the normal vector). Inserting $\beta_2 = \sqrt{2}$
into (\ref{eq2}) gives $(2\sqrt{2} - \alpha)\beta_3 = \sqrt{2}\alpha
- 2$. It follows from this equation that $\alpha \neq 2\sqrt{2}$ and
\begin{equation} \label{eq22}
\beta_3 = \frac{\sqrt{2}\alpha - 2}{2\sqrt{2} - \alpha}.
\end{equation}
This implies $\beta_3 \neq -\sqrt{2}$. We first assume that $\beta_3
\neq \sqrt{2} = \beta_2$. Since $|\Lambda| \geq 2$, there exists
$\rho \in \Lambda \setminus \{\lambda\}$, and any such $\rho$
satisfies $2\rho \neq \beta_2$ (since $\rho \neq \lambda$ and
$2\lambda = \beta_2$) and $2\rho \neq \beta_3$ (since $\beta_3 \neq
\pm \sqrt{2}$ and because of Lemma \ref{lambdabeta}). From Lemma
\ref{lambda23} we see that $\phi_\nu T_\rho \subset T_{\rho_\nu}$
with $\rho_2 = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} = \lambda$ and $\rho_3 =
\frac{\beta_3\rho - 1}{2\rho - \beta_3} \in \Lambda$. We have
$2\rho_2 = \sqrt{2} = \beta_2 \neq \beta_3$. Therefore, if $2\rho_3
\neq \beta_2$, we deduce $\rho = -\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$ from Lemma
\ref{usefullemma} (since $\sqrt{2} = \beta_2 \neq \beta_3$ and $\rho
\neq \lambda$). Otherwise, if $2\rho_3 = \beta_2 = \sqrt{2}$ we get
$\frac{\beta_3\rho - 1}{2\rho - \beta_3} = \rho_3 =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$ by Lemma \ref{lambdabeta}, which is equivalent
to $(\sqrt{2}\rho + 1)\beta_3 = (\sqrt{2}\rho + 1)\sqrt{2}$. Since
$\beta_3 \neq \sqrt{2}$ this implies $\rho = -\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$ as
well. Altogether we conclude that $\Lambda = \{\pm
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}\}$. However, if $\rho = -\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}}$, we
have $1 = \frac{\beta_3\rho - 1}{2\rho - \beta_3} = \rho_3 \in
\Lambda$, which is a contradiction. Hence we must have $\beta_3 =
\beta_2 = \sqrt{2}$. From (\ref{eq22}) we then obtain $\alpha =
\frac{3}{\sqrt{2}}$. Assume that there exists $\rho \in \Lambda
\setminus \{\lambda\}$ such that $T_\rho \cap E_{-1} \neq \{0\}$,
and let $0 \neq X \in T_\rho \cap E_{-1}$. From (\ref{eq23}) we
obtain $\phi_2 X \in T_\lambda \cap E_{+1}$ and $\phi_3 X \in
T_\lambda \cap E_{+1}$. Using (\ref{eq20}) we then get
$$A\phi_3 X = A \phi_1 \phi_2 X = - A \phi \phi_2 X =
\frac{3}{\sqrt{2}}\phi\phi_2 X = - \frac{3}{\sqrt{2}}\phi_1\phi_2 X
= - \frac{3}{\sqrt{2}}\phi_3 X,
$$
which contradicts $\phi_3 X \in T_\lambda$. Thus we conclude that
there exists no $\rho \in \Lambda \setminus \{\lambda\}$ such that
$T_\rho \cap E_{-1} \neq \{0\}$, which means that $E_{-1} \subset
T_\lambda$.
\end{proof}
We will now use the above results to derive some restrictions for
the principal curvatures:
\begin{prop} \label{pccase1}
Let $M$ be a connected hypersurface in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, $m \geq
2$. Assume that the maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}$ of $TM$
and the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$ of $TM$ are
both invariant under the shape operator of $M$. If $JN \in
{\mathfrak J}N$, then one the following statements holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $M$ has exactly four
distinct constant principal curvatures
\begin{eqnarray*}
\alpha = 2\coth(2r)\ ,\ \beta = \coth(r)\ , \lambda_1 = \tanh(r)\ ,\
\lambda_2 = 0, & &
\end{eqnarray*}
and the corresponding principal curvature spaces are
$$
T_\alpha = {\mathcal C}^\perp\ ,\ T_\beta = {\mathcal C} \ominus {\mathcal Q}
\ ,\ T_{\lambda_1} = E_{-1}\ ,\ T_{\lambda_2} = E_{+1}.
$$
The principal curvature spaces $T_{\lambda_1}$ and $T_{\lambda_2}$
are complex (with respect to $J$) and totally complex (with respect
to ${\mathfrak J}$).
\item[(ii)] $M$ has exactly three distinct constant principal curvatures
$$
\alpha = 2\ ,\ \beta = 1\ ,\ \lambda = 0
$$
with corresponding principal curvature spaces
$$
T_\alpha = {\mathcal C}^\perp\ ,\ T_\beta = ({\mathcal C} \ominus {\mathcal Q})
\oplus E_{-1}\ ,\ T_\lambda = E_{+1}.
$$
\item[(iii)] We have $\alpha = \frac{3}{\sqrt{2}}$, $\beta_2 =
\beta_3 = \sqrt{2}$, $|\Lambda| \geq 2$, $\lambda =
\frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} \in \Lambda$ and $E_{-1} \subset T_\lambda$.
\end{itemize}
\end{prop}
\begin{proof}
If there exists a principal curvature $\lambda \in \Lambda$ such
that $2\lambda = \beta_\nu$ for some $\nu \in \{2,3\}$, we get
statement (iii) from Lemma \ref{uniquelambda}. We now assume that
$2\lambda \neq \beta_\nu$ for all $\lambda \in \Lambda$ and all $\nu
\in \{2,3\}$. We have to show that $M$ satisfies (i), (ii) or (iv).
If there exists a principal curvature $\lambda \in \Lambda$ with
$2\lambda = \alpha$, we get case (ii) from Proposition
\ref{2lambdaequalalpha}. Thus we can assume that $2\lambda \neq
\alpha$ for all $\lambda \in \Lambda$. Since $2\lambda \neq
\beta_\nu$ for all $\lambda \in \Lambda$, we obtain from Lemma
\ref{lambdabeta} that $\beta_\nu^2 \neq 2$ for $\nu \in \{2,3\}$.
From Lemma \ref{generalcase} we obtain
$\beta_2 = \beta_3 =: \beta$, and (\ref{eq2}) implies
\begin{equation} \label{eq2beta2beta3}
\beta^2 - \alpha\beta + 1 = 0.
\end{equation}
Note that if $\beta$ is a solution of
(\ref{eq2beta2beta3}), then $\frac{1}{\beta}$ is the other solution.
In case $\beta = 1$ (\ref{eq2beta2beta3}) has a root of multiplicity
two. Let $\lambda \in \Lambda$ and $X \in T_\lambda$. Then, using
Lemma \ref{lambda23}, we see that for $\nu \in \{2,3\}$ we have
$A\phi_\nu X = \lambda^*\phi_\nu X$ with
$$ \lambda^* = \frac{\beta\lambda - 1}{2\lambda - \beta}.$$
Note that $(\lambda^*)^* = \lambda$ since $\beta^2 \neq 2$.
Moreover, we have $T_\lambda \subset E_{\pm 1}$ and
\begin{eqnarray}
T_{\lambda^*} \subset E_{-1}\ {\rm and} & \lambda^{*2} -
\alpha\lambda^* + 1 = 0 & {\rm if}\ T_\lambda \subset E_{+1} \label{eq30}\\
T_{\lambda^*} \subset E_{+1}\ {\rm and} & \lambda^*(\lambda^* -
\alpha) = 0 & {\rm if}\ T_\lambda \subset E_{-1} \label{eq31}
\end{eqnarray}
We choose $\lambda \in \Lambda$ such that $T_\lambda \subset
E_{-1}$. From (\ref{eq2beta2beta3}) and (\ref{eq31}) we then obtain
$\lambda^* = 0$ or $\lambda^* = \alpha$. Assume that $\lambda^* =
\alpha$. Then we have $\alpha \in \Lambda$ and $T_\alpha \subset
E_{+1}$. From (\ref{eq2beta2beta3}) and (\ref{eq30}) we then get
$\alpha^* \in \{\beta,\frac{1}{\beta}\}$. The equation $\alpha^* =
\beta$ is equivalent to $\beta^2 - \alpha\beta - 1 = 0$, which
contradicts (\ref{eq2beta2beta3}). The equation $\alpha^* =
\frac{1}{\beta}$ is equivalent to $\alpha(\beta^2 - 2) = 0$. Since
$\beta^2 \neq 2$ this implies $\alpha = 0$, which contradicts
(\ref{eq2beta2beta3}). Therefore $\lambda^* = \alpha$ is impossible,
and we conclude that $\lambda^* = 0$ and hence $\lambda =
\frac{1}{\beta}$. Altogether we conclude that $\Lambda =
\{0,\frac{1}{\beta}\}$, $T_0 = E_{+1}$ and $T_{\frac{1}{\beta}} =
E_{-1}$.
From Equation (\ref{gradient}) we see that the gradient ${\rm
grad}^\alpha$ of $\alpha$ on $M$ satisfies ${\rm grad}^\alpha =
(\xi\alpha)\xi$, and as in the proof of Proposition \ref{pccase2} we
obtain $(\xi\alpha)g((A \phi + \phi A)X ,Y) = 0$ for all vector
fields $X,Y$ on $M$. Since $E_{-1}$ is invariant under both $\phi$
and $A$, we get for all $X \in E_{-1}$ that
$$
0 = (\xi\alpha)g((A \phi + \phi A)X ,\phi X) =
\frac{1}{\beta}(\xi\alpha)g(\phi X,\phi X),
$$
which implies $\xi\alpha = 0$. Therefore ${\rm grad}^\alpha =
(\xi\alpha)\xi= 0$, and since $M$ is connected we conclude that
$\alpha$ is constant.
It follows easily from (\ref{eq2beta2beta3}) that $\alpha^2 \geq 4$.
If $\alpha^2 = 4$, then $\beta = \frac{\alpha}{2}$ and hence
$2\lambda_1 - \alpha = 0$ for $\lambda_1 = \frac{1}{\beta} \in
\Lambda$, which contradicts our assumption that $2\lambda \neq
\alpha$ for all $\lambda \in \Lambda$. Thus we have $\alpha^2 > 4$
and we can write $\alpha = 2\coth(2r)$ for some $r \in {\mathbb
R}_+$ (and possibly changing the orientation of the normal vector).
From (\ref{eq2beta2beta3}) we then obtain $\beta = \coth(r)$ and
therefore $\lambda_1 = \frac{1}{\beta} = \tanh(r)$. Altogether this
shows that statement (i) holds.
\end{proof}
Assume that $M$ satisfies property (i) in Proposition \ref{pccase1}.
For $p \in M$ we denote by $c_p : {\mathbb R} \to
SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ the geodesic in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ with
$c_p(0) = p$ and $\dot{c}_p(0) = N_p$, and define the smooth map
$$
F : M \to SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m), p \mapsto c_p(r).
$$
Geometrically, $F$ is the displacement of $M$ at distance $r$ in
direction of the unit normal vector field $N$. For each $p \in M$
the differential $d_pF$ of $F$ at $p$ can be computed using Jacobi
vector fields by means of $d_pF(X) = Z_X(r)$, where $Z_X$ is the
Jacobi vector field along $c_p$ with initial value $Z_X(0) = X$ and
$Z_X^\prime(0) = -AX$. Using the explicit description of the Jacobi
operator $R_N$ given in Table \ref{Jacobi} for the case $JN = J_1N
\in {\mathfrak J}N$ we get
$$
Z_X(r) = \begin{cases} E_X(r) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_{\lambda_2},\\
(\cosh(r) - \kappa\sinh(r))E_X(r) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_\kappa\
{\rm and}\ \kappa \in
\{\beta,\lambda_1\},\\
\left(\cosh\left(2r\right) -
\frac{\alpha}{2}\sinh\left(2r\right)\right)E_X(r) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X
\in T_\alpha,
\end{cases}
$$
where $E_X$ denotes the parallel vector field along $c_p$ with
$E_X(0) = X$. This shows that the kernel ${\rm ker}\,dF$ of $dF$ is
given by
$$
{\rm ker}\,dF = T_\alpha \oplus T_\beta = {\mathfrak J}N = {\mathcal Q}^\perp,
$$
and that $F$ is of constant rank equal to the rank of the
quaternionic vector bundle ${\mathcal Q}$, which is equal to
$4(m-1)$. Thus, locally, $F$ is a submersion onto a
$4(m-1)$-dimensional submanifold $B$ of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Moreover, the tangent space of $B$ at $F(p)$ is obtained by parallel
translation of $(T_{\lambda_1} \oplus T_{\lambda_2})(p) = {\mathcal
Q}(p)$, which is a quaternionic (with respect to ${\mathfrak J}$)
and complex (with respect to $J$) subspace of
$T_pSU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. Since both $J$ and ${\mathfrak J}$ are
parallel along $c_p$, also $T_{F(p)}B$ is a quaternionic (with
respect to ${\mathfrak J}$) and complex (with respect to $J$)
subspace of $T_{F(p)}SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. Thus $B$ is a quaternionic
and complex submanifold of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. Since every
quaternionic submanifold of a quaternionic K\"{a}hler manifold is
necessarily totally geodesic (see e.g.\ \cite{G}), we see that $B$
is a totally geodesic submanifold of $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Using the concept of duality between the symmetric spaces
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ and $SU_{2+m}/S(U_2U_m)$, it follows from the
classification of totally geodesic submanifolds in complex
$2$-plane Grassmannians (see \cite{K}), that $B$ is an open part of
$SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ embedded in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ as a
totally geodesic submanifold. Rigidity of totally geodesic
submanifolds implies that $M$ is an open part of the tube with
radius $r$ around $SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Now assume that $M$ satisfies property (ii) in Proposition
\ref{pccase1}. As above we define $c_p,F,X_Z,E_X$, and we get
$$
Z_X(t) = \begin{cases} E_X(t) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_\lambda,\\
\exp(-t)E_X(t) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in
T_\beta,\\
\exp(-2t)E_X(t) & ,\ {\rm if}\ X \in T_\alpha
\end{cases}
$$
for all $t \in {\mathbb R}$. Now consider a geodesic variation in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ consisting of geodesics $c_p$. The
corresponding Jacobi field is a linear combination of the three
types of the Jacobi fields $Z_X$ listed above, and hence its length
remains bounded when $t \to \infty$. This shows that all geodesics
$c_p$ in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ are asymptotic to each other and hence
determine a singular point $z \in SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)(\infty)$ at
infinity. Therefore $M$ is an integral manifold of the distribution
on $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ given by the orthogonal complements of the
tangent vectors of the geodesics in the asymptote class $z$. This
distribution is integrable and the maximal leaves are the
horospheres in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ whose center at infinity is $z$.
Uniqueness of integral manifolds of integrable distributions finally
implies that $M$ is a open part of a horosphere in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$ whose center is the singular point $z$ at
infinity.
Finally, assume that $M$ satisfies property (iii) in Proposition \ref{pccase1}.
Let $t \in {\mathbb R}_+$ such that $\coth(t) =
\sqrt{2} = \beta$. Then we have $\alpha = \frac{3}{\sqrt{2}} = 2\coth(2t)$ and
$\lambda = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2}} = \tanh(t)$.
As above we define $c_p,F,X_Z,E_X$.
Since $M$ is a hypersurface, also $M_r =
F(M)$ is (locally) a hypersurface for sufficiently small $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$.
The tangent vector $\dot{c}_p(r)$ is a unit normal vector of $M_r$ at $c_p(r)$.
Since $\dot{c}_p(0) = N_p$ is a singular tangent vector of type $JX \in {\mathcal J}X$,
every tangent vector of $c_p$ is singular and of type $JX \in {\mathcal J}X$.
The tangent space $T_{c_p(r)}M_r$ of $M_r$ at $c_p(r)$ is obtained by
parallel translation of $T_pM$ along $c_p$ from $c_p(0)$ to $c_p(r)$.
We denote by ${\mathcal C}_r$ the maximal complex subbundle of $TM_r$ and by
${\mathcal Q}_r$ the maximal quaternionic subbundle of $TM_r$.
Let $A_r$ be the shape operator of $M_r$ with respect to $\dot{c}_p(r)$.
For $X \in T_\alpha$ we have $A_rZ_X(r) = -Z_X^\prime(r)$ with
$$
Z_X(r) = \left(\cosh(2r) - \coth(2t)\sinh(2r)\right)E_X(r).
$$
It follows that $E_X(r)$ is a principal curvature vector of $M_r$ with corresponding
principal curvature
$$
\alpha_r = -\frac{2\sinh(2r) - 2\coth(2t)\cosh(2r)}{\cosh(2r) - \coth(2t)\sinh(2r)} = 2\coth(2(r+t)).
$$
Since $T_\alpha = {\mathcal C}^\perp = {\mathbb R}JN$ and $J$ is parallel, we
see that $({\mathcal C}_r)^\perp$, and hence also ${\mathcal C}_r$, are invariant under the shape
operator of $M_r$. For $X \in T_\beta$ we have $A_rZ_X(r) = -Z_X^\prime(r)$ with
$$
Z_X(r) = \left(\cosh(r) - \coth(t)\sinh(r)\right)E_X(r).
$$
Since $T_\beta = {\mathcal C} \ominus {\mathcal Q}$ and both $J$ and ${\mathcal J}$
are parallel, we conclude that ${\mathcal C}_r \ominus {\mathcal Q}_r$ is invariant under $A_r$.
Altogether this implies that ${\mathcal Q}_r$ is invariant under the shape operator of $M_r$.
We thus have proved that $M_r$ satisfies the assumptions of Proposition \ref{pccase1}.
It is easy to see that $\alpha_r \notin \{\frac{3}{\sqrt{2}},2\}$ for $r \in {\mathbb R}_+$, and hence
the principal curvatures of $M_r$ must satisfy (i) in Proposition \ref{pccase1}.
Therefore $M_r$ is an open part of a tube with radius $r+t$ around a totally geodesic $SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$. This implies that $M$ is an open part of a tube with radius $t$ around
a totally geodesic $SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$.
Altogether we have now proved the following result:
\begin{thm} \label{resultcase1}
Let $M$ be a connected hypersurface in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$, $m \geq
2$. Assume that the maximal complex subbundle ${\mathcal C}$ of $TM$
and the maximal quaternionic subbundle ${\mathcal Q}$ of $TM$ are
both invariant under the shape operator of $M$. If the normal bundle of $M$
consists of singular tangent vectors of type $JX \in
{\mathfrak J}X$, then one the following statements holds:
\begin{itemize}
\item[(i)] $M$ is an open part of a tube around a totally geodesic $SU_{2,m-1}/S(U_2U_{m-1})$ in
$SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$;
\item [(ii)] $M$ is an open part of a horosphere in $SU_{2,m}/S(U_2U_m)$
whose center at infinity is singular and of type $JX \in {\mathfrak
J}X$.
\end{itemize}
\end{thm}
The main result, Theorem \ref{mainresult}, now follows by combining Proposition \ref{key},
Theorem \ref{resultcase2} and Theorem \ref{resultcase1}.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 7,422 |
The Freezing Points of Bacterial Cells in Relation to Halophilism
J. H. B. Christian1, M. Ingram1
Affiliations: 1 Low Temperature Station for Research in Biochemistry and Biophysics. University of Cambridge and Department of Scientific and Industrial Research
First Published: 01 February 1959 https://doi.org/10.1099/00221287-20-1-27
SUMMARY: The hypothesis that halophilic bacteria achieve a high degree of salt tolerance by exclusion of much of the external solutes of the growth medium has been tested. Organisms were grown in media containing from 1 to 4 m salts. For both halophilic and non-halophilic bacteria the freezing points of the cells were close to those of the media in which they were grown. It is concluded that halophilic bacteria do not maintain the intracellular aqueous phase at a water activity greater than in the surrounding growth medium.
© Society for Gerenal Microbiology, 1959
/content/journal/micro/10.1099/00221287-20-1-27
/deliver/fulltext/micro/20/1/mic-20-1-27.html?itemId=/content/journal/micro/10.1099/00221287-20-1-27&mimeType=html&fmt=ahah
Baxter R.M., Gibbons N.E. 1954; The glycerol dehydrogenases of Pseudo- monas salinaria, Vibrio costicolus and Escherichia coli in relation to bacterial halophilism. Canad. J. Biochem. Physiol. 32:206
Christian J.H.B. 1956; The physiological basis of salt tolerance in halophilic bacteria. Dissertation, Cambridge
Christian J.H.B., Ingram M. 1959; Lysis of Vibrio costicolus by osmotic shock. J. gen. Microbiol. 20:32
Gibbons N.E., Baxter R.M. 1953; The relation between salt concentration and enzyme activity in halophilic bacteria. Proc. Vlth int. Congr. Microbiol. Rome: 1:210
Ingram M. 1938; The effect of sodium chloride on a bacterial enzyme which destroys lactic acid. Rep. Fd Invest. Bd Lond. p. 72
Mitchell P., Moyle J. 1956; Osmotic structure and function in bacteria. . In Bacterial Anatomy. Symp. Soc. gen. Microbiol. 6:150
Robinson J., Gibbons N.E., Thatcher F.S. 1952; A mechanism of halophilism in Micrococcus halodenitrificans. J. Bact. 64:69
Scott W.J. 1953; Water relations of Staphylococcus aureus at 30° C. Aust. J. biol. Sci 6:549
Yamada T., Shiio I. 1953; Effects of salt concentration on the respiration of a halotolerant bacterium. J. Biochem. Tokyo 40:327
http://instance.metastore.ingenta.com/content/journal/micro/10.1099/00221287-20-1-27
Microbiology 20, 27 (1959); https://doi.org/10.1099/00221287-20-1-27
10.1099/00221287-20-1-27 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 1,688 |
Q: NavigationLink Push via isActive gets dismissed immediately I want to init a navigation stack in SwiftUI. Thus I want to push a second view immediately after a first view appears. Therefore I want to use a @State var, which I set to true onAppear, and thus activates a NavigationLink.
However, the approach is not working (without modifications, see below). The push is done and then the second view is immediately dismissed (video). This is my sample (Github Repo):
struct SecondView: View {
var body: some View {
Text("Second")
.navigationTitle("Second")
.onAppear(perform: {
print("Second: onAppear")
})
}
}
struct FirstView: View {
@State var linkActive = false
var body: some View {
NavigationLink(destination: SecondView(), isActive: $linkActive) {
Text("Goto second")
}
.navigationTitle("First")
.onAppear(perform: {
print("First: onAppear")
linkActive = true
})
.onChange(of: linkActive) { value in
print("First: linkActive changed to: \(linkActive)")
}
}
}
struct SwiftUIView: View {
var body: some View {
NavigationView {
NavigationLink(destination: FirstView()) {
Text("Goto first")
}
}
.navigationViewStyle(StackNavigationViewStyle())
}
}
Output:
First: onAppear
First: linkActive changed to: true
Second: onAppear
First: linkActive changed to: false
If I modify the onAppear to set the linkActive to true after a delay of min. 0.5 seconds it works. What is wrong here? I expect the SecondView to stay on screen as I don't get why isActive is changed back to false.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 1,261 |
Portela Susa is set in Portela Susã and offers barbecue facilities and a garden. This villa provides free WiFi, a terrace, as well as a shared lounge. The villa includes 1 bedroom and a kitchen with a dishwasher and an oven. A flat-screen TV with satellite channels and a DVD player are provided. Hiking can be enjoyed nearby. Braga is 37 km from the villa. Francisco Sá Carneiro Airport is 62 km away. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 1,183 |
Q: E/RecyclerView: No adapter attached; skipping layout(Kotlin) I have a trouble with a error "E/RecyclerView: No adapter attached; skipping layout" for 2 days...
Please help me what causes this error...
I already checked that getItemCount function return 1 result(Because the ProductEntity database only have 1 data)
Thank you in advance!!
[ProductActivity.kt]
package com.example.trymakeapp
import androidx.appcompat.app.AppCompatActivity
import android.os.Bundle
import android.util.Log
import androidx.recyclerview.widget.LinearLayoutManager
import com.example.trymakeapp.databinding.ActivityProductBinding
import com.example.trymakeapp.databinding.ItemProductBinding
import com.example.trymakeapp.db.AppDatabase
import com.example.trymakeapp.db.ProductDao
import com.example.trymakeapp.db.ProductEntity
class ProductActivity : AppCompatActivity() {
private lateinit var binding: ActivityProductBinding
private lateinit var db: AppDatabase
private lateinit var productDao: ProductDao
private lateinit var productList : ArrayList<ProductEntity>
private lateinit var adapter : ProductRecyclerViewAdapter
override fun onCreate(savedInstanceState: Bundle?) {
super.onCreate(savedInstanceState)
binding = ActivityProductBinding.inflate(layoutInflater)
setContentView(binding.root)
db = AppDatabase.getInstance(this)!!
productDao = db.getProductDao()
getAllProductList()
}
private fun getAllProductList() {
Thread {
productList = ArrayList(productDao.getAll())
setRecyclerView()
}.start()
println("#####")
}
private fun setRecyclerView() {
runOnUiThread {
adapter = ProductRecyclerViewAdapter(productList)
binding.recyclerView.adapter = adapter
binding.recyclerView.layoutManager = LinearLayoutManager(this@ProductActivity)
}
}
}
[ProductRecyclerViewAdapter.kt]
package com.example.trymakeapp
import android.view.LayoutInflater
import android.view.ViewGroup
import androidx.recyclerview.widget.RecyclerView
import com.example.trymakeapp.databinding.ItemProductBinding
import com.example.trymakeapp.db.ProductEntity
import java.util.ArrayList
class ProductRecyclerViewAdapter(private val productList : ArrayList<ProductEntity>)
: RecyclerView.Adapter<ProductRecyclerViewAdapter.MyViewHolder>() {
inner class MyViewHolder(binding: ItemProductBinding) :
RecyclerView.ViewHolder(binding.root) {
val product_idx = binding.productIdx
val product_name = binding.productName
val product_price = binding.productPrice
val product_img = binding.productImg
val root = binding.root
}
override fun onCreateViewHolder(parent: ViewGroup, viewType: Int): MyViewHolder {
val binding : ItemProductBinding =
ItemProductBinding.inflate(LayoutInflater.from(parent.context),
parent, false)
return MyViewHolder(binding)
}
override fun onBindViewHolder(holder: MyViewHolder, position: Int) {
val productData = productList[position]
holder.product_idx.text = productData.idx
holder.product_name.text = productData.name
holder.product_price.text = productData.price.toString()
}
override fun getItemCount(): Int {
return productList.size
}
}
[MainActivity.kt]
...
...
btn3.setOnClickListener {
val intent = Intent(this, ProductActivity::class.java)
startActivity(intent)
}
A: Try to move the initialization in the onCreate method:
override fun onCreate(savedInstanceState: Bundle?) {
super.onCreate(savedInstanceState)
binding = ActivityProductBinding.inflate(layoutInflater)
setContentView(binding.root)
db = AppDatabase.getInstance(this)!!
productDao = db.getProductDao()
binding.recyclerView.layoutManager = LinearLayoutManager(this)
adapter = ProductRecyclerViewAdapter(arrayListOf())
binding.recyclerView.adapter = adapter
getAllProductList()
}
And edit your setRecyclerView method like this (You can remove the adapter and productList global variables):
private fun setRecyclerView(productList: ArrayList<ProductEntity>) {
runOnUiThread {
binding.recyclerView.adapter = ProductRecyclerViewAdapter(productList)
}
}
EDIT
To handle the fact that data are not displayed. Try to use LiveData to observe its changes:
@Dao
interface ProductDao {
@Query("select * from ProductEntity")
fun getAll() : LiveData<List<ProductEntity>>
}
Then observe changes in the getAll method using observe:
private fun getAllProductList() {
productDao.getAll().observe(this) {
setRecyclerView(ArrayList(it))
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 3,518 |
These electronic documents are provided for online reference only. Downloading, copying or distributing is prohibited unless otherwise specifically indicated on a per document basis.
Should you encounter any issues viewing these publications, please leave a comment on the page where the issue occurred and include the device type, operating system and browser you were using when the issue was encountered. For example: I encountered a blank screen on Desktop, Windows, Chrome Browser or Mobile, iPhone, Safari browser. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 4,613 |
\section{Model and analysis methods}
The model used in this work was originally used to investigate the flip-flop
phenomenon (\cite{elst_kor}, \cite{kor_elst}). In the current work is is used
to study the correlations between surface and radial differential rotation. The
dynamo is modelled with a turbulent fluid in a spherical shell. The internal
rotation is similar to the solar one with equatorial regions rotating faster
than the polar regions, but here a smaller difference between core and surface
rotation is used. The inner boundary of the convective zone is at the radius
0.4R$\star$. The mean electromotive force contains an anisotropic alpha-effect
and a turbulent diffusivity. The nonlinear feedback of the magnetic field acts
on the turbulence only. The boundary conditions describe a perfect conducting
fluid at the bottom of the convection zone and at the stellar surface the
magnetic field matches the vacuum field.
We use standard cross-correlation methods to study the changes in the magnetic
pressure maps obtained from the dynamo calculations. As these maps can be
treated the same way as the temperature maps obtained from Doppler imaging, we
can use the same techniques as in the case of the real observations to
analyse the snapshots from the dynamo calculations. We have taken magnetic
pressure maps from 36 time points over the activity cycle. The chosen time
points, which are separated by about 50 days, are shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:maps}.
\begin{figure}
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=12.5cm]{Korhonen_Elstner_f1.eps}
\caption{Six examples of the 36 snapshots of the Dynamo model.}
\label{fig:maps}
\end{center}
\end{figure}
\section{Results}
The results from cross-correlating the 36 maps are shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:cc}.
The plots give the shift in degrees/day for each latitude on the 'northern'
hemisphere. The field migration in the model is removed by normalising to the
shift at the lowest latitude used in the investigation (2$^{\circ}$). The last
plot in Fig.~\ref{fig:cc} shows the average of the measurements from the
cross-correlations, with standard deviation of the measurements as the error.
In the plots the dashed line is the input rotation at the stellar surface. The
surface differential rotation pattern clearly changes during the activity
cycle. It is also evident that in the measured surface differential rotation
at the low latitudes is what one would expect from the model, but at higher
latitudes, where most of the magnetic flux is, the correlation is very poor.
\begin{figure}
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=12.5cm]{Korhonen_Elstner_f2.eps}
\caption{The results from cross-correlating the 36 snapshots.}
\label{fig:cc}
\end{center}
\end{figure}
\begin{acknowledgments}
HK acknowledges the grant from IAU to help participating in the symposium.
\end{acknowledgments}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 4,326 |
The Devil é um filme mudo estadunidense de curta metragem, do gênero dramático, lançado em 1908, escrito e dirigido por D. W. Griffith.
Elenco
Harry Solter
Claire McDowell
George Gebhardt
D. W. Griffith
Arthur V. Johnson
Florence Lawrence
Jeanie Macpherson
Mack Sennett
Ligações externas
Filmes dos Estados Unidos de 1908
Filmes de drama dos Estados Unidos
Filmes dirigidos por D. W. Griffith
Filmes de curta-metragem
Filmes mudos dos Estados Unidos
Filmes em preto e branco | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 5,640 |
La prima stagione della serie televisiva italiana Volevo fare la rockstar, composta da 12 episodi, è stata trasmessa in prima visione su Rai 2 ogni mercoledì dal 30 ottobre (giorno in cui è stata resa interamente disponibile sulla piattaforma streaming RaiPlay) al 4 dicembre 2019, con due episodi alla volta per sei prime serate.
Buon compleanno Olly
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Andrea Agnello, Daniela Gambaro e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Olivia Mazzuccato, o semplicemente Olly (come la chiamano gli amici) vive nella città di Caselonghe insieme alle sue figlie, le gemelle Emma e Viola (del cui padre non si conosce l'identità, dato che Olly ha sempre mantenuto il riserbo fin da quando rimase incinta a 16 anni), e il fratello minore Eros, un liceale di 17 anni immaturo, che frequenta cattive compagnie e che, soprattutto, nasconde a tutti la sua omosessualità: infatti, ha segretamente una relazione con Antonio, carabiniere nonché fidanzato di Vanessa, la sua migliore amica e compagna di classe. Olly conduce una vita frenetica con pochi svaghi, è costretta a fare due lavori per mantenere le figlie: di giorno in un piccolo supermercato, e di notte in un pub. Quando era giovane desiderava diventare una rockstar di successo e amava suonare insieme ai suoi due migliori amici Daniela (ora veterinaria) e Fulvio (ora prete della chiesa locale), insieme ai quali aveva formato il gruppo Takabrighe.
Il primo giorno di scuola delle gemelle coincide con il 27º compleanno della loro mamma. Emma e Viola litigano con Maurizio, fratello minore di Antonio e bullo della scuola. Invece Eros è nei guai con Vera, una criminale alla quale deve dei soldi, ma fortunatamente Antonio lo salva prima che la faccenda diventi pericolosa. Calata la notte Olly, Emma e Viola si dirigono al pub dove Eros, Antonio, Fulvio, Vanessa e Daniela le organizzano una festa a sorpresa; Eros regala alla sorella il vecchio basso con cui in passato suonava ma che aveva venduto. Al pub arriva anche Francesco, un uomo appena giunto da Milano, il quale rimane subito affascinato da Olly. Daniela regala all'amica un abito da sera portandola in un night club, dove Olly scorge Daniela intenta ad avere un rapporto sessuale nel bagno con un uomo appena conosciuto; durante il tragitto verso casa le due incrociano Francesco, e Daniela incoraggia Olly a farsi avanti con lui dato che la ragazza sembra provare un po' di attrazione nei suoi confronti, e anche perché è da anni che Olly non sta insieme a un uomo, avendo problemi e complessi nei confronti delle relazioni di coppia. Olly e Francesco si mettono a parlare, poi lei cerca di baciarlo, ma Francesco non vuole approfittarsi di lei dato che è un po' ubriaca; Olly si mette a vomitare e Francesco gentilmente la riaccompagna a casa.
Il giorno dopo, mentre sono a scuola, Emma e Viola vengono a sapere che non studieranno nella stessa classe. Olly, alla guida del furgone delle consegne, ancora stanca per i festeggiamenti della notte precedente, si addormenta al volante e finisce fuori strada: ne sussegue un pericoloso incidente e Olly, in un'esperienza tra la vita e la morte, immagina di vedere il suo funerale durante il quale è presente anche il suo defunto padre; inoltre Olly saluta le sue figlie promettendo a entrambe che sarà il padre a prendersi cura di loro. Olly viene ricoverata in ospedale e la clinica chiama al telefono il suo parente più prossimo, ovvero la madre Nadia, una ex alcolista che da tempo non vive più con i suoi figli, ma che ora è felice e che vede questo avvenimento come una seconda possibilità per ricostruire un rapporto con i suoi figli, benché Eros non sia minimamente felice di rivederla.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 5,55%.
Il burrone
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Andrea Agnello, Daniela Gambaro e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Nonostante il dissenso del fratello, Olly decide di riaccogliere Nadia a casa loro, così potrà aiutarla con le bambine, a differenza di Eros. Maurizio umilia Emma davanti a tutta la scuola leggendo il tema che lei aveva scritto sulla sua famiglia, dove raccontava di come Olly fosse rimasta incinta delle gemelle tramite l'inseminazione artificiale da un donatore anonimo (infatti questa è la bugia che Olly ha sempre raccontato alle figlie per evitare di rivelare l'identità del padre); a quel punto, Viola lo picchia e si guadagna una settimana di sospensione. Nadia torna a vivere nella sua vecchia casa e in breve si guadagna la simpatia delle nipoti, alle quali racconta di come la loro casa appartenga alla famiglia da generazioni: infatti, in precedenza era di proprietà della madre di Nadia, che la regalò al marito quando si sposarono.
In seguito all'incidente, Olly viene tenuta in osservazione dallo psichiatra dell'ospedale, il dottor Giovanni Trevi, il quale in breve capisce che lei si sente intrappolata in una vita poco appagante e che a dispetto dell'amore che prova per Emma e Viola, c'è una parte di lei che vorrebbe essere più libera e meno soffocata dalle responsabilità quotidiane; le consiglia dunque una valvola di sfogo, ovvero scrivere i suoi pensieri su un blog (che Olly chiama Volevo fare la rockstar), dato che lei non può nemmeno permettersi di andare in terapia. Francesco, saputo dell'incidente, le compra dei fiori e va a trovarla in ospedale, ma vedendola con Giovanni getta i fiori nella spazzatura e se ne va. Giovanni (convinto che l'inesistente vita sentimentale Olly sia dovuta a un suo blocco psicologico) ci prova spudoratamente con lei, gesto che la ragazza trova inappropriato.
Con dei flashback si apprende che Olly, quando scoprì di essere incinta, era intenzionata ad abortire tanto da prendere appuntamento in un consultorio: fu Nadia a convincerla a tenere le bambine, anche se dopo qualche anno lasciò i figli e le nipoti per scappare con un venditore di prodotti di bellezza (infatti sono stati i nonni di Olly e Eros a prendersi cura di loro). Nadia chiede a Viola di non fare parola con Olly della sua sospensione per non preoccuparla. Eros torna a casa a tarda ora, completamente ubriaco; Nadia dorme con il figlio, ma così facendo si dimentica delle nipoti: Emma, che soffre di sonnambulismo, esce di casa e riprende coscienza ritrovandosi sola nel bosco; raggiunta la strada, viene quasi investita da Francesco, che la riporta a casa propria, e infine Antonio la riporta dalla sua famiglia. Dimessa dall'ospedale, Olly è furibonda con sua madre dopo aver appreso della sospensione di Viola, non le perdona il suo egoistico desiderio di riallacciare un rapporto con Eros e le rimprovera di aver ha perso di vista le bambine, quindi la caccia via di casa. Al supermercato il capo di Olly le spiega che ha deciso di venderlo a un nuovo proprietario, e la ragazza scopre che il nuovo titolare è proprio Francesco, il quale è altrettanto sorpreso nell'apprendere che ora Olly lavora alle sue dipendenze.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 8,19%.
Cose da fare prima dei 30
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Olly si rende conto di non aver raggiunto nemmeno uno dei traguardi che si era prefissata ai tempi dell'adolescenza, quindi va in uno studio di registrazione a provare come ai tempi della gioventù insieme a Daniela e Fulvio. Con la minaccia di mandarlo a lavorare in una fattoria, Olly costringe Eros a tornare a scuola facendogli promettere che entro gennaio avrebbe ottenuto in pagella solo sufficienze; Eros conosce la sua nuova compagna di classe Martina, figlia ingenua di Francesco, che stringe subito amicizia con Vanessa e che sente subito attrazione nei riguardi di Eros, il quale vede in lei la possibilità di migliorare la media dei suoi voti, progettando perciò di farla innamorare di lui. Francesco, preso in simpatia dai dipendenti dato che cerca di innovare l'ambiente lavorativo con lo shelf marketing, tormenta Olly; la ragazza matura l'idea che Francesco sia arrabbiato con lei per l'imbarazzante scena in ospedale con Giovanni, ma lui le spiega che il motivo per cui l'ha presa in antipatia è perché non mette serietà nel lavoro, oltre al fatto che si presenta sempre in ritardo e ruba i prodotti scaduti.
La titolare dello studio di registrazione è Elena Moras, ex musicista per la quale Olly e Daniela provavano grande ammirazione da adolescenti; ascoltando il loro pezzo, Elena afferma che hanno del talento e che forse potrebbero incidere un album, ma che prima dovranno versare un capitale di euro di tasca loro. In seguito all'incidente col furgone, gli assistenti sociali telefonano a Olly per fare un'ispezione e controllare se va tutto bene nel contesto familiare. Francesco scopre che il precedente proprietario del supermercato lo ha truffato avendo occultato i numerosi debiti dell'attività, lasciandogli un supermercato già in bolletta; Francesco si consulta con un avvocato, il quale gli spiega che nel contratto d'acquisto c'è una piccola clausola che non prevede garanzia sulle passività pregresse, e come se non bastasse deve rimediare ai danni causati da Olly con il furgone a causa dell'incidente. Francesco, per rimettere in sesto l'attività, vede solo due alternative: o licenziare un suo dipendente, o chiedere un finanziamento alla banca; la seconda opzione però è quella più rischiosa, perché è già consapevole di non essere capace di ripagare un eventuale prestito. Olly decide di aiutare Francesco licenziandosi, cosa che rappresenta anche un pretesto per concentrarsi sulla sua carriera di musicista, ma Daniela e Fulvio trovano assurda l'idea di tornare a suonare e infatti decidono di lasciar perdere.
I voti di Viola stanno peggiorando e le sue compagne di classe sono sempre cattive con lei; Cesare, l'insegnante di ginnastica, capendo che lei è vittima di bullismo, la convince a entrare nella squadra di rugby della scuola con la promessa che convincerà gli insegnanti a rimandarla nella classe di Emma, e Viola accetta anche se dovrà fare squadra con Maurizio, il quale ha ancora il naso rotto in seguito al pestaggio da parte di lei. Nonostante gli iniziali litigi, Maurizio si scusa con lei, spiegandole che sua madre è sulla bocca di tutti in città poiché da anni la gente si chiede chi sia il padre delle gemelle. Olly, trovati i soldi necessari per il capitale, ascolta una conversazione tra Elena e due uomini che avrebbero dovuto sostituire i suoi amici, scoprendo che vuole solo truffarla per scroccarle del denaro con la falsa promessa del successo; delusa, avendo capito che il suo sogno di diventare una musicista non si realizzerà mai perché ormai appartiene al passato, decide di vendere il basso. Emma confessa a Viola di aver sempre saputo che quella dell'inseminazione artificiale era solo una bugia, e che a differenza sua non è mai stata interessata a sapere chi sia loro padre. Olly dorme con le figlie e, alla richiesta di Viola di rivelare l'identità del padre, la ragazza racconta un'altra bugia, ovvero che si trattava di un australiano di cui non ricorda il nome e che la mise incinta in seguito all'avventura di una notte; quando Olly chiede loro se desiderano avere un padre, le gemelle le rispondono che hanno bisogno solo di lei. Cesare mantiene la promessa e Viola viene trasferita nella classe di Emma.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 5,65%.
Il drago
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Olly ha paura che le vengano portate via le sue bambine, infatti Antonio la mette in guardia sul fatto che Magda, la vecchia assistente sociale, la conosceva fin da piccola e quindi è sempre stata di manica larga con lei, mentre la sua nuova sostituta, Fabrizia Gabella, ha già disposto l'allontanamento di un minore dalla sua famiglia, ed è famosa per i suoi modi severi e intransigenti; ora che Olly si è licenziata dal supermercato si guadagna da vivere con lavori in nero, dunque Antonio le suggerisce di trovarsi un lavoro che possa metterla in regola. Martina sorprende Eros a leggere il suo diario nella speranza di scoprire qualche segreto sulla ragazza così da manipolarla, così lo schiaffeggia davanti a tutti gli studenti. Da quando Viola gioca a rugby lei e Maurizio iniziano ad andare più d'accordo, e Olly ha modo di conoscere Cesare dopo averlo sorpreso completamento nudo nello spogliatoio della scuola. Francesco cerca di nasconderlo, ma si sente in colpa per il licenziamento di Olly, tra l'altro riceve la visita di un suo vecchio amico, Mancuso. Olly riesce a trovare un lavoro in regola come cameriera in un ristorante giapponese di Trieste, nel quale è presente una sala riservata (chiamata Sala del Loto) dove i clienti mangiano il cibo sopra i corpi nudi delle cameriere; la proprietaria propone a Olly di prendervi parte dato che le mance sono molto alte.
Eros odia vedere Antonio insieme a Vanessa, ma quest'ultima crede ingenuamente che l'amico sia innamorato di Martina, perciò la esorta a farsi avanti con lui; in effetti Eros e Martina capiscono di avere molto in comune: entrambi hanno delle famiglie problematiche, ad esempio Olly ed Eros hanno perso il padre, mentre Martina è orfana della madre. Emma scopre che la nonna lavora come giardiniera nella villa di proprietà di Nice Zignoni, moglie di un amministratore bancario gravemente malato; la bambina non trova giusto che tutti siano cattivi con Nadia (la quale le racconta alcuni dei suoi sbagli nel periodo in cui faceva uso di cocaina) e, scoperto che dorme nell'auto di un suo amico, la invita a venire a dormire nel capanno degli attrezzi di casa loro, cosa che la porta a litigare con la madre e lo zio. Mancuso porta Francesco a cenare nel ristorante dove lavora Olly, e proprio nella Sala del Loto; già a disagio, Francesco vede una cameriera di spalle spogliarsi e, dando per scontato che fosse Olly, cerca di portarla via di lì finendo col fare a pugni con uno dei buttafuori. Francesco, cacciato dal ristorante, scopre che quella cameriera non era Olly, la quale si era rifiutata di servire in quella sala e che viene licenziata.
Olly e la sua famiglia ricevono la visita dell'assistente sociale. Le preoccupazioni di Olly si rivelano infondate dato che Gabella si mostra soddisfatta sia di Olly che dei suoi parenti, spiegandole che ci sono famiglie molto più problematiche della loro; inoltre, proprio Francesco ha avvertito Gabella di aver riassunto Olly al supermercato, e che dunque è nuovamente una lavoratrice in regola. Olly è piuttosto invidiosa della donna, la quale è bella e giovane come lei, ma al contrario è realizzata nel lavoro, sta per avere un bambino e ha un compagno premuroso e affascinante; lei fa capire a Olly che il problema è che vede sé stessa ancora come una ragazza madre, ma la verità è che ora è una donna. Emma va a trovare Nadia al lavoro, entrando di nascosto nella libreria della villa; rimanendo affascinata dai libri ne ruba uno, ignorando che Nice la tiene d'occhio con la videocamera. Nice viene informata dal direttore della banca del marito che hanno accordato un prestito a Francesco per riassumere Olly e far quadrare il budget (sebbene Francesco abbia già capito di avere poche possibilità di estinguere il debito dati i tassi d'interesse fin troppo alti). Cesare manda un SMS a Olly invitando lei e le bambine a vedere una partita di rugby.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 7,66%.
Gente coi bozzi
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Quando Francesco entra in chiesa, parlandoci Fulvio comprende che l'uomo si sta innamorando di Olly e che vuole confrontarsi con lui perché è amico della ragazza. Fulvio però lo mette in guardia: Olly è dovuta crescere troppo velocemente per potersi prendere cura delle figlie, ora più che mai dovrà commettere degli sbagli, e gli domanda se ha la forza di accettarlo. Martina chiede a Eros di uscire con lei, mentre Olly porta Viola a vedere la partita di rugby di Cesare. Quest'ultimo invita Olly a cena e lei porta con sé le gemelle (infatti avendo timore di uscire con un uomo si "nasconde" dietro le figlie); Cesare comunque è molto gentile con le bambine, e confessa a Olly che è innamorato di lei dai tempi del liceo ma che, essendo stato in sovrappeso, non ha mai avuto il coraggio di rivolgerle la parola. Martina esorta Eros a dare a Nadia una seconda possibilità, specialmente ora che vive con loro. Eros continua a esserle ostile, mentre Martina ne rimane subito affascinata trovandola gentile e interessante; purtroppo però, quando Nadia la mette davanti ai suoi problemi (avendo capito subito che Martina ha un disordine alimentare, forse iniziato dopo la morte della madre), la ragazza si arrabbia, e il giorno seguente a scuola bacia Eros.
Alice, una compagna di classe di Viola, la invita a casa sua a un pigiama party, ma in realtà le tende una trappola: si appropria di una lettere d'amore che aveva scritto per Cesare, e la pubblica online mettendola in ridicolo davanti a tutta la scuola; Emma e Maurizio costringono poi Alice a cancellare la lettera. Olly scopre da Nice che Francesco ha chiesto un prestito alla banca, e questo la mette in agitazione sapendo che ha poche probabilità di estinguere il debito; quando Nice le spiega che Francesco avrebbe potuto fare a meno del prestito licenziando un suo impiegato, Olly comprende che si è indebitato con la banca per riassumerla. Apprezzando il gesto, Olly e gli altri impiegati del supermercato decidono di fare un favore a Francesco creando un altro dipendente, fittizio, che non necessita quindi di essere stipendiato, con falsi orari di lavoro; quindi Olly e gli altri rinunceranno a qualche turno di paga.
Emma entra nuovamente di nascosto nella biblioteca della villa di Nice per rimettere a posto il libro che aveva preso l'altra volta, ma poi si confronta con la donna, la quale aveva sempre saputo che lei si era appropriata del libro. Emma le spiega che lo aveva solo preso in prestito e che è rimasta affascinata da tutti quei libri, molto rari tra cui anche prime edizioni. Nice le dà il permesso di leggere tutti i libri che vuole, ma a patto che lo faccia lì, senza portarli via. Olly va a casa di Cesare i due si baciano, venendo interrotti da Viola (pure lei era andata a trovare Cesare), che e scappa via sentendosi tradita dalla madre.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 6,5%.
Il club degli innamorati
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Viola, che si è presa una cotta per il suo insegnante, insulta pesantemente la madre e le impone di non frequentarlo più, ma Olly non intende assecondare questo suo capriccio ritenendo di meritarsi un po' di felicità; Daniela trascorre la giornata con le gemelle per consentire a Olly e Cesare di stare soli ma, a causa di un impegno, le lascia in compagnia di Francesco. Intanto Eros e Martina sono diventati una coppia e passano la giornata tra le montagne slovene insieme a Vanessa e Antonio. A casa di Olly arrivano alcuni agenti immobiliare che le mostrano un atto di cessione nel quale suo nonno materno Primo, legittimo proprietario della casa, l'avrebbe ceduta in presenza di un notaio a una certa Dora. Nadia e Olly vanno a trovare Primo alla casa di riposo, trovandolo burbero, volgare e rabbioso, ancora in pessimi rapporti con la figlia la quale gli ha sempre procurato delusioni, e ostile anche verso la nipote non avendola perdonata per essere rimasta incinta a soli 16 anni; le due capiscono che Dora, l'infermiera di Primo, si è servita dell'innamoramento dell'anziano truffandolo per far intestare a lei la proprietà della casa con la complicità del notaio: apparentemente lo ha convinto a fare testamento lasciando la casa alle nipoti dopo la sua morte, ma in realtà a sua insaputa il notaio ha fatto intestare la casa a Dora.
Eros, Antonio, Vanessa e Martina fanno escursione tra le montagne raggiungendo le grotte, ma dato che le ragazze non vogliono addentrarsi lì, Eros e Antonio ci vanno da soli amoreggiando indisturbati. Francesco e le bambine si divertono andando per negozi, poi quando Viola gli rivela la ragione dei suoi dissapori con la madre, Francesco le fa capire che lei si è presa una cotta per Cesare unicamente perché lui le ha dato delle attenzioni, in quanto Viola ha sempre sentito la mancanza di una figura paterna. A Cesare viene un'idea per aiutare Olly grazie al suo migliore amico, uno psichiatra che potrebbe invalidare il contratto tramite la circonvenzione di incapace con una falsa perizia psichiatrica dove viene attestato che Primo non è in grado di intendere e volere. Cesare porta Olly dal suo amico che si rivela essere Giovanni, il quale continua a corteggiarla a dispetto del fatto che lei esce con il suo migliore amico, facendo appello al fatto che lei e Cesare in fondo non stanno ancora ufficialmente insieme.
Francesco scopre che Mancuso vuole aprire un centro commerciale con ampi parcheggi e cinema, dunque se già è un problema per Francesco che il supermercato è indebitato con la banca, le cose peggioreranno ora che Mancuso gli porterà via i clienti. Giovanni accetta di aiutare Olly con una falsa perizia psichiatrica, ma Primo si rifiuta di umiliarsi così; Nadia per la prima volta mostra sensibilità nei riguardi di suo padre, capendo che l'affetto che nutriva per Dora era sincero e che lei lo ha ripagato con le menzogne, e sebbene Primo continui a odiare la figlia, decide di prestarsi al piano di Olly e Giovanni, e presenziando dinanzi al notaio con la perizia psichiatrica invalidano il contratto. Sebbene Olly, per amore di Viola, avesse deciso di lasciare Cesare, la figlia ritorna sui suoi passi e dà a sua madre il permesso di frequentarsi con lui; Olly finalmente inizia ad apprezzare sua madre, il cui aiuto è stato indispensabile per salvare la casa.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 7,82%.
Tabù
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Olly e Cesare, benché stiano insieme già da un po', non hanno ancora fatto sesso, e ogni volta che sono vicino a farlo entrambi cercano scuse per tirarsi indietro. Grazie all'aiuto di Martina la media scolastica di Eros è migliorata, anche se Antonio è geloso nel vederli insieme, ma Eros sottolinea che la sta solo usando per mantenere la sufficienza. Continuando a frequentare la villa di Nice, Emma scopre che il marito di Nice versa in uno stato semicosciente, e la donna non si fa problemi a dirle che loro due non si sono mai amati; l'unica cosa che li teneva uniti era il figlio, che è scappato di casa più di dieci anni fa. Francesco va da un suo vecchio amico, il quale conservava la sua vecchia moto, e i due la rimettono a nuovo. Martina riceve per posta una bella notizia: è stata accettata in un prestigioso istituto in Canada, ma non è più sicura di volerci andare visto che sta bene insieme a Eros.
Giovanni procura un lavoro a Olly in un convegno di psichiatria, poi le dà dell'acqua dal sapore amaro facendole credere di averla drogata; senza più controllarsi, la ragazza sale sul tetto dell'edificio venendo raggiunta da Giovanni, il quale le fa capire che lei è schiava delle sue paure supponendo che il motivo per cui sta insieme a Cesare è dovuto al fatto che lui rappresenta la scelta più sicura; infine le confessa di non aver messo nessuna droga nell'acqua, ma solo sali minerali, sperando che questo espediente la aiutasse a sciogliersi e aprirsi. Martina, che è ancora vergine, vorrebbe fare per la prima volta l'amore con Eros, ancora ignara del fatto che lui non è minimamente attratto dalle ragazze. Daniela inizia a provare dei sentimenti per Francesco, specialmente dopo che Olly le ha fatto notare che, malgrado vada a letto con tanti uomini, non è capace di costruire un legame amoroso con nessuno di loro.
Cesare confessa a Olly di essere vergine, non avendo mai superato i suoi complessi nei confronti del suo corpo in quanto da adolescente era sovrappeso. Al pub Olly viene raggiunta da Giovanni, il quale le spiega che proprio per via dei problemi che Cesare ha nei confronti del sesso, ha sempre frequentato donne che lo facevano sentire a disagio con sé stesso. Alla fine Olly e Giovanni fanno sesso, ma lui contatta Cesare chiedendogli di raggiungerli con l'intenzione di dirgli ciò che hanno appena fatto. Giovanni, giocando a carte scoperte, ammette di non provare nessun interesse per Olly: voleva solo confermare quello che già sospettava, ovvero che lei è una donna volubile, e quindi non adatta a Cesare. Quando arriva Cesare, quest'ultimo colpisce Giovanni con un pugno (reazione che lui aveva già previsto); Giovanni è convinto che tra qualche giorno Cesare si riconcilierà con lui, al contrario però non perdonerà mai Olly, che ritiene "fuori dai giochi". Olly, prendendo atto di aver sbagliato trova consolazione nell'amicizia di Francesco. Emma e Viola trovano una foto della loro mamma antecedente alla gravidanza, con sul retro un messaggio d'amore scritto in italiano e, intuendo che è stato loro padre a scriverlo, comprendono che probabilmente non è australiano e che dunque Olly ha raccontato a entrambe un'altra bugia.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 5,19%.
Quella cosa che non si scorda mai
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Ora che tra Olly e Cesare è finita, quest'ultimo ha chiesto il trasferimento non volendo più insegnare lì. Francesco spiega a Olly che a breve il supermercato chiuderà non essendo in grado di ripagare il prestito alla banca, e che lui e Martina lasceranno Caselonghe per tornare a Milano; Olly scopre che la ragione per cui il supermercato sta per fallire è perché il precedente proprietario aveva troppi debitori; i due viaggiano per Gorizia facendo tappa da ogni cliente, ma nessuno è in grado di saldare il debito, offrendo al massimo soltanto prodotti alimentari. In effetti a Olly e Francesco viene in mente un'idea: trasformare il supermercato in uno spaccio bio, vendendo prodotti online oltre al punto vendita a Caselonghe, in quanto sembra un business remunerativo. In un momento di confidenza, Francesco racconta a Olly che lui ha un passato da delinquente, che la ex moglie Mara lo tradiva in continuazione finché non lasciò lui e Martina, ma che quando si ammalò di cancro tornò da loro non volendo morire sola; Francesco la riaccolse in casa, ma Mara morì quando Martina aveva solo otto anni, e da allora Francesco mise la testa a posto diventando un uomo onesto per il bene della figlia. Quando Francesco le chiede chi è il padre delle gemelle, Olly decide di sorvolare sull'argomento. I due vanno nella casa di un altro cliente trovandolo morto, vecchio e completamente solo; Olly trova molto denaro nascosto nel frigorifero (evidentemente acquisito in nero), abbastanza da ripagare il debito con la banca, ma Francesco si rifiuta di usare soldi che non gli appartengono, anche perché se indagassero lui finirebbe nei guai.
Con dei flashback si ripercorrono gli eventi che portarono alla gravidanza di Olly: lei conobbe un ragazzo di nome Vittorio, frequentandosi di nascosto per mesi dato che la madre di Vittorio non avrebbe mai approvato la sua relazione con la ragazza; Olly lo lasciò quando scoprì che aveva già un'altra fidanzata, ma dopo un po' di tempo si rincontrarono e, travolti dalla passione, fecero l'amore. Vittorio desiderava partire per Londra, ma per Olly sembrava disposto ad accantonare il suo sogno; tuttavia, il giorno in cui Olly scoprì di essere incinta, Vittorio venne a trovarla nella sua camera da letto, ma quando arrivò Primo fu costretto a nascondersi nell'armadio, e quando successivamente Olly tornò nella sua camera scoprì che Vittorio era già andato via, lasciandole un biglietto dove scriveva che aveva deciso di partire. Olly non aveva avuto il tempo di informarlo della gravidanza.
Benché Eros non abbia più bisogno di Martina ora che la sua media scolastica è migliorata, è ugualmente triste all'idea che lei torni a Milano, e decide quindi di portarla in Slovenia alla casa di riposa dove si trova il nonno, il quale prende in simpatia la ragazza; Eros e Martina partecipano a un percorso a ostacoli ottenendo come premio un soggiorno gratis in un albergo durante il quale i due tentano di avere un rapporto sessuale senza riuscirci; Martina crede che sia colpa sua, ma Eros le spiega che è lui ad avere un problema, avendo passato tanto tempo a sentirsi inadeguato, imparando a mentire e a odiare gli altri, poi le dice che lei è la cosa migliore che gli sia mai capitata e si scambiano un abbraccio. Emma porta Viola nella villa di Nice; Viola non capisce per quale motivo Emma preferisca passare il suo tempo con Nice invece che con lei, ed è proprio Nadia a farle comprendere che Emma è una persona complicata e che ci sono aspetti di lei che la sua famiglia, compresa la gemella, non capiranno mai. Francesco scopre che il debito con la banca è stato saldato: Olly ha dato i soldi a Fulvio, il quale ha pagato la banca tramite la chiesa, visto che nessuno indaga mai sulle donazioni della stessa; Francesco, nonostante non fosse d'accordo nell'usare quel denaro, perdona Olly la quale non voleva che lui lasciasse Caselonghe. Con un ultimo flashback Vittorio, prima di partire per Londra, ruba del denaro mentre sua madre dorme, la quale si scopre essere Nice, che all'insaputa di tutti è la nonna paterna di Emma e Viola.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 6,67%.
Presente
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Durante un picnic con Viola, Francesco, Fulvio e Daniela, quest'ultima confessa a Olly di avere un debole per Francesco; alle due viene in mente di creare un falso profilo chiamato l'ultima moicana per chattare con Francesco (iscritto a un sito di incontri online da Martina) a sua insaputa. Sfogliando un album di foto scolastiche della madre, Viola nota che lei era sempre in compagnia di un ragazzo di nome Gerardo, al quale chiede se è suo padre, ma lui risponde che è impossibile in quanto si trovava a Napoli quando Olly rimase incinta. Eros, volendo bene sia a Martina che a Vanessa, si sente in colpa per tutte le menzogne e i tradimenti ai loro danni, e informa Antonio che intende rivelare a Martina di essere gay; Antonio però non lo prende sul serio in quanto già in passato Eros si era ripromesso di fare coming out con la sorella e il nonno, ma alla fine si tira sempre indietro perché in definitiva è solo un codardo, e queste affermazioni lo fanno arrabbiare.
Chattando con Francesco, Olly capisce di esserne innamorata, anche grazie alle parole di Eros; Francesco chiede allultima moicana'' di vedersi per un appuntamento, al quale dovrà presentarsi Daniela. Eros va a casa di Martina e, quando vede che sulle sue braccia ci sono dei segni da tagli, lei gli rivela che a Milano era vittima di bullismo e che si tagliava in reazione alle cattiverie dei suoi compagni di scuola: questo è il motivo per cui si sono trasferiti a Caselonghe. Eros e Martina fanno sesso, e il ragazzo dimentica nella camera da letto della ragazza la mappa che Antonio gli aveva dato per raggiungere il loro "nido d'amore". Olly inizia a essere gelosa e non le piace l'idea che Daniela esca con Francesco; quest'ultimo e Daniela vanno in una sala bowling e Olly, per tenerli d'occhio, va lì insieme alle gemelle. Dopo che Olly si separa dalle sue figlie, Daniela e Francesco notano la sua presenza e lei con una scusa afferma di aver perso le bambine, quindi Francesco si mette a cercarle. Daniela, consapevole del fatto che quella di Olly era una bugia, pretende una spiegazione, e quando l'amica ammette di amare Francesco decide di mettersi da parte, ma non accorda il suo perdono a Olly la quale pecca sempre di egocentrismo; le spiega che pure lei ha i suoi problemi, infatti ha paura di non riuscire a trovare l'amore dato che è incapace di costruire una relazione funzionale con un uomo. Questi pensieri non la fanno dormire la notte, sottolineando il fatto che da quando Olly è rimasta incinta si è trasformata in una narcisista.
Viola chiede a Emma per quale motivo lei non è minimamente interessata a scoprire chi sia suo padre, ed Emma risponde che non ha mai sentito l'esigenza di scoprire la sua identità, affermando che il motivo per cui sua sorella si è presa una cotta per Cesare (oltre al fatto che ormai è ossessionata all'idea di capire chi sia suo padre) è dovuto al fatto che non si sente bene con sé stessa. Le due vengono alle mani, ma Francesco le trova e le costringe a fare pace. Francesco riaccompagna Olly e le bambine a casa loro, poi confessa a Olly di aver capito che era lei la donna con cui chattava e non Daniela; i due si mettono a litigare, e lui ammette che è solo lei il motivo per cui è rimasto a Caselonghe, dopodiché si baciano e Francesco la porta a casa sua dove fanno l'amore. Il marito di Nice sta morendo quindi lei, seguendo il consiglio di Emma, decide di mettersi in contatto con Vittorio nella speranza che torni a Caselonghe affinché possa dare il suo ultimo saluto al padre.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 4,68%.
Scelte difficili
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Vittorio vive a Londra a casa di una sua amica, conduce una vita squallida e ha contratto un debito di sterline con delle persone molto pericolose; quando viene a sapere di suo padre, decide di tornare in Italia. Intanto Olly e Francesco, che ora stanno insieme, sono più felici che mai, anche se Olly affretta troppo le cose chiedendogli di trasferirsi da lei. Martina segue la mappa di Eros e lo scopre in flagrante con Antonio; ferita e umiliata, scappa decidendo di buttarsi da un ponte, ma Eros la raggiunge supplicandola di non fare nessuna stupidaggine, ammette di essere gay e che si è messo con lei solo per migliorare i suoi voti scolastici, aggiungendo però che lei è la sua migliore amica nonché la persona più importante della sua vita. Martina giura che racconterà a tutti la verità, e che solo se si getterà dal ponte e morirà allora il segreto di Eros e Antonio resterà tale. Eros a quel punto decide di non fare nulla ma Martina, che in realtà non ha alcuna intenzione di morire, afferma che non racconterà a nessuno che Eros è gay, e che non vale la pena suicidarsi per uno come lui, il quale era tentato di lasciarla morire solo per mantenere il suo segreto.
Il marito di Nice muore e Vittorio torna a Caselonghe poco dopo; lui e la madre hanno sempre avuto un brutto rapporto, anche a causa del matrimonio infelice di lei, dato che per sposarsi ha dovuto accantonare le sue ambizioni, oltre al fatto che suo marito la tradiva. Vittorio a modo suo ci rimane male per la morte del padre, ma in realtà è tornato a casa solo per liquidare i suoi beni e ricevere la sua parte di eredità; Nice smorza le sue speranze spiegandogli che lei è l'unica intestataria dei beni di suo marito. Eros si confronta con Antonio, il quale ammette che avrebbe preferito che Martina morisse avendo troppa paura del giudizio della sua famiglia e dei suoi colleghi di lavoro nel caso si venga a sapere della sua omosessualità. Eros, disgustato da Antonio e anche da sé stesso, avendo capito per la prima volta quanto loro due siano stati egoisti, lo picchia. Martina decide di andare in Canada, mentendo a Vanessa dicendole semplicemente che Eros l'ha tradita con altre ragazze; Vanessa è arrabbiata con Eros dato che per colpa sua ha dovuto rinunciare a un'amica. Francesco tenta di aggredire Eros visto che è colpa sua se Martina parte, quindi Olly lo invita ad andarsene; Francesco si scusa per come ha agito, ma lei preferisce prendersi una pausa dalla loro relazione. A casa di Nice, Emma conosce Vittorio ignorando che si tratta di suo padre, mentre lui scopre che la bambina è figlia di Olly. Quando Viola confessa alla madre che Emma passa le sue giornate con Nice, Olly nella sua villa e ha modo di rivedere Vittorio, il quale le confessa che non è mai riuscito a diventare un grande musicista a Londra, avendo solo collezionato fallimenti; Olly porta via Emma, non potendo accettare che sia amica di Nice, imponendole di non tornare più da lei e dandole uno schiaffo.
Francesco accetta la partenza di Martina, la quale lo esorta a rimanere a Caselonghe per Olly. Nadia confessa a Eros di aver sempre saputo che lui è gay, aggiungendo che non ha niente di cui vergognarsi, ma questo lo spinge a odiarla ancora di più dato che lo ha abbandonato pur sapendo quanto lui stesse male. Parlando con Olly, Eros sostiene che a dispetto di tutto sono due estranei e che hanno una sola cosa in comune, ovvero l'egoismo. Eros comprende inoltre che, proprio per via del litigio avvenuto tra lui e Francesco, Olly sta solo cercando una scusa per lasciare il fidanzato; guarda Martina mentre parte via, senza trovare il coraggio di salutarla. Olly confessa alla madre che Vittorio è il padre delle gemelle e che si sente in colpa perché, se gli avesse detto di essere incinta, sarebbe rimasto con lei a Caselonghe risparmiandogli tutte le delusioni successive, oltre al fatto che ha proibito alle sue figlie di avere un padre; come se non bastasse, Daniela non le parla più. Emma e Viola origliano l'ultima parte della conversazione dove Olly afferma che il padre delle piccole è proprio sotto il loro naso, e decidono di indagare seriamente sull'identità del padre. Olly va da Francesco, pentita di non aver accettato le sue scuse, e lui cerca di farle capire che deve imparare a essere più razionale e coerente nei suoi comportamenti, in caso contrario la loro relazione non funzionerà mai. Olly si mette in contatto con Vittorio, intenzionata a rivelargli dell'esistenza delle sue figlie.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 6,59%.
Confusione
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Vittorio comunica a Olly l'intenzione di lasciare Caselonghe dopo il funerale del padre; Olly decide di non dirgli la verità riguardo Emma e Viola. Le gemelle capiscono che il padre si trova a Caselonghe e chiedono un consiglio a Maurizio, il quale è dell'opinione che si tratti di un uomo vicino alla famiglia; le gemelle avanzano l'ipotesi che il loro misterioso padre sia Fulvio, e che la ragione per cui non si è mai fatto avanti è per via del fatto che, vista la sua posizione di prete, sarebbe scandaloso se si sapesse che ha avuto due figlie, dopodiché Emma porta Viola nella villa di Nice, facendole conoscere Vittorio. Olly confessa a Daniela che Vittorio è il padre delle bambine, ma che non intende dirglielo, ammettendo di essere possessiva nei riguardi delle gemelle e che non vuole dividerle con nessuno, nemmeno con il loro padre. Daniela capisce che Olly forse è tentata di ritornare con Vittorio, e cerca di farle prendere atto che ai tempi dell'adolescenza aveva sì un debole per Vittorio, ma che lui non ha fatto altro che metterla incinta, che quello che prova per lui non è vero amore, e che se rovinerà le cose con Francesco per colpa di Vittorio commetterà uno sbaglio imperdonabile.
Durante la serata di inaugurazione dello spaccio bio, Antonio propone a Eros di scappare con lui in Slovenia, e nonostante l'iniziale esitazione lui accetta con grande felicità. Anche Vittorio prende parte all'evento, e Olly lo presenta a Francesco come un suo vecchio amico; i due però non vanno molto d'accordo, dato che Vittorio lo provoca affermando che Francesco non è il genere d'uomo adatto a Olly. Arriva anche Daniela, la quale fa pace con Olly organizzando per lei una sorpresa con la collaborazione di Francesco facendola esibire sul palcoscenico; purtroppo però Olly non trova il coraggio di farlo e scappa via. Vittorio, trovando un po' di tempo per stare solo con lei, le domanda se Emma e Viola sono sue figlie, e lei conferma i suoi sospetti. Olly mette subito in chiaro che le ha cresciute lei e che lui non può avanzare nessun diritto; Vittorio le spiega che non intende portargliele via e che non ha nulla da offrire loro visto che non ha un soldo, che passa tutte le sue giornate a bere e che ha perso il suo talento musicale. Vanessa rivela a Eros che lei e Antonio stanno per avere un bambino, essendo incinta di due mesi; Eros comprende che Antonio vuole scappare solo per astenersi dalle sue responsabilità. Francesco consegna a Olly una lettera di dimissioni, non volendo più stare con lei dato che non ha fatto che mentirgli, infatti ha costretto Fulvio con le cattive a rivelargli che Vittorio è il padre delle gemelle; Francesco è indifferente alla cosa, ciò che non accetta è che Olly scelga di essere sempre egoista, affermando che lei è incapace di stare con un uomo.
Emma, Viola e Maurizio salgono sul palco mettendo in imbarazzo Fulvio quando dichiarano davanti a tutti che è il padre delle bambine, ma Olly si arrabbia e chiarisce che Fulvio non è il padre delle gemelle, rimproverando le sue figlie e sostenendo che non è tenuta a informarle dell'identità del padre. Il giorno dopo Eros raggiunge Antonio alla fermata dell'autobus: non ha intenzione di scappare con lui; infatti Antonio è intenzionato a fuggire in Slovenia anche senza di lui, ma Eros non glielo permette avendo avvertito le autorità competenti dato che, come membro dell'Arma dei Carabinieri, non ha il permesso di disertare. Eros non lascerà che Vanessa cresca da sola un bambino avendo visto i sacrifici che ha fatto Olly. Vittorio raggiunge Olly al pub, e i due si mettono a parlare delle gemelle; Vittorio le regala una chitarra e Olly la suona facendogli ascoltare un suo pezzo, poi lo invita a casa sua e lo presenta alle bambine, che finalmente scoprono l'identità del loro papà.
Ascolti: telespettatori – share 6%.
La tribù
Diretto da: Matteo Oleotto
Scritto da: Alessandro Sermoneta, Giacomo Bisanti e Matteo Visconti
Trama
Emma e Viola non sono molto entusiaste di Vittorio dato che non lo avevano preso molto in simpatia quando lo avevano conosciuto da Nice; l'unica cosa che le preoccupa è il fatto che Francesco e Olly si sono lasciati, e questo rattrista entrambe. Olly riaccompagna Vittorio a casa, pensando a come sarebbero andate le cose se avesse avuto il coraggio di dirgli che era incinta poiché sembra intenzionato a voler far parte della vita delle sue figlie e a riallacciare la loro relazione. Francesco passa la notte a bere, guidando con la moto sotto la pioggia e finendo col cadere. Vanessa va a casa di Eros e lo affronta: gli spiega che conosce il suo segreto dato che Antonio le ha detto che Eros è gay (raccontandole una versione distorta della realtà, dicendole che Eros ci ha provato con lui), oltre al fatto che è colpa sua se Martina è andata in Canada e che per poco lei non si è tolta la vita. Vanessa è disgustata dal fatto che il suo migliore amico non abbia fatto altro che mentirle, e decide di cancellarlo dalla sua vita.
Vittorio rivela a Nice che Emma e Viola sono sue nipoti; all'inizio la donna ha un atteggiamento prevenuto nei confronti di Olly, dando per scontato che voglia spillarle dei soldi, ma il figlio le spiega che intende provvedere alle bambine ed è disposto a trovarsi un lavoro, per quanto umile sia. Nice riconosce di non provare simpatia per Olly, tuttavia comprende che è una persona onesta, dato che in tutti questi anni non le ha mai chiesto del denaro. Per questo motivo, la mette in guardia, consigliandole di non fidarsi di Vittorio, mentre invece Olly ritenga che valga la pena dargli una seconda possibilità.
Eros è nei guai perché ha un debito di euro con Vera, la quale gli propone di azzerare il debito portando della droga dalla Slovenia; Eros ritira la droga, ma non se la sente di consegnargliela, quindi va da suo nonno per prendere la sua pistola, e Primo intuisce subito che suo nipote è nei guai. Emma e Viola accudiscono Francesco dato che si è fatto male al ginocchio cadendo dalla moto, e gli prendono delle medicine; gli confidano di avere dubbi sulla sincerità di Vittorio, il quale dà l'impressione di volerle forzare a prenderlo in simpatia come se nascondesse un secondo fine. Viola avverte dei dolori, si chiude in bagno e scopre che le sono venute le mestruazioni; Francesco è un po' imbarazzato, ma aiuta Emma a trovare gli assorbenti per la sorella. Quando le due sorelle gli chiedono se c'è la possibilità che lui e Olly possano riconciliarsi, lui non riesce a dare una risposta e le abbraccia.
Nice confessa al figlio di aver fatto delle indagini sulla sua vita, e di essere al corrente che deve dei soldi a della brutta gente: gli presterà il denaro che gli serve a patto che faccia uno sforzo per diventare un uomo migliore. Olly incontra Nice, la quale le spiega che suo figlio partirà per Londra così che possa ripagare il debito contratto, ma che poi tornerà a Caselonghe; inoltre le racconta che dodici anni prima, quando lui partì per Londra, si pagò un biglietto in last minute rubando i soldi dalla carta di credito di suo padre, e così Olly intuisce che Vittorio le ha mentito dato che le aveva detto che il biglietto per Londra lo aveva comprato già da un mese. La cosa strana è che Nice aveva trovato la sua camera da letto tutta in disordine, poiché a quanto pare aveva preparato la sua valigia di tutta fretta come se stesse partendo verso l'Inghilterra per scappare da qualcosa. Olly raggiunge Vittorio e lo costringe a dirle la verità: lui aveva sempre saputo che Emma e Viola sono le sue figlie, ed era sempre stato a conoscenza del fatto che Olly era incinta, infatti quando era uscito dall'armadio della camera da letto di Olly per evitare di farsi trovare da Primo, aveva visto il test di gravidanza; scrisse quel biglietto d'addio sapendo che Olly non gli avrebbe impedito di andarsene, poi lasciò Caselonghe non volendo assumersi la responsabilità di diventare padre. Olly capisce che il suo scopo è solo quello di scroccare dei soldi a Nice, facendo finta di voler riconoscere Emma e Viola come le sue figlie solo perché rappresenta il modo più sicuro per farsi dare del denaro da sua madre, facendosi prestare 50.000 sterline sebbene il debito sia di sole (infatti, oltre ai soldi per ripagare i suoi creditori, ne voleva altri per mantenersi); inoltre raggiunta Londra, non tornerà più a Caselonghe. Vittorio però desidera stare insieme a Olly e le propone di scappare con lui, mentre Emma e Viola resteranno a Caselonghe e Nice si prenderà cura di loro; Olly ne rimane disgustata e decide di chiudere definitivamente con lui, il quale le chiede di non fare parola con sua madre delle sue reali intenzioni, con la promessa che le darà parte del denaro che sua madre gli presterà, ma Olly racconta a Nice tutta la verità.
Eros spiega a Vera di aver buttato la droga nel fiume e tira fuori la pistola, ma lo scagnozzo della criminale lo disarma buttando la pistola per terra e picchiandolo; per fortuna arriva Nadia (prontamente avvertita da Primo), che raccoglie la pistola, spara al piede del criminale e scappa via insieme al figlio, tornando a casa insieme. Eros si riconcilia con Olly rivelandole di essere gay. Olly va a casa di Francesco scusandosi con lui, ma Francesco non ha voglia di parlarci né tanto meno di farla entrare in casa sua però, dato che è tutta bagnata (visto che Eros le aveva tirato addosso una secchiata d'acqua) le dà un asciugamano, facendo intendere che forse un giorno la perdonerà. Nice telefona a Olly dicendole che vuole far parte della vita delle gemelle, sentendo di avere dei doveri nei confronti delle sue nipoti, e diversamente da Vittorio non intende ignorare le sue responsabilità. Eros in realtà non aveva buttato via la droga, ha deciso di tenersela per sé nascondendola nella sua camera da letto.
Passano sei mesi: Olly torna a casa mentre Emma e Viola sono al mare con Nice, Nadia ed Eros, poi accende la radio e ascolta Vittorio suonare la canzone che Olly gli aveva fatto sentire al pub, ma riarrangiata e diventata una hit. Benché Vittorio non meriti il suo successo, Olly è comunque felice per lui visto che finalmente è diventato un musicista affermato.
Ascolti''': telespettatori – share 8,39%.
Note
Bibliografia
Collegamenti esterni | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,833 |
const { NoBareHTMLButton } = require('./rules');
module.exports = {
name: 'u-template-lint',
rules: {
'u-template-lint/no-bare-button': NoBareHTMLButton
}
};
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
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Erik Stensland
Nature First - An Introduction
My heart sunk as I approached the meadow. This spot which for years had been the most fertile section of wildflowers, usually filled with a mixture of elephant head, scarlet and sulpher Indian paintbrush, pinnate-leaved daisies and arrowleaf senecio, was now just a field of gravel with a few sprouts of green struggling to poke through. My mind raced trying to figure out what had happened. Then it slowly dawned on me. This area six miles back from the trailhead had been trampled by far too many feet. But why had they been to this remote location? How did they even know about it? It then dawned on me, causing me to feel almost ill: I had published numerous photos of this area, shared the location online, and then told everyone who asked where this area could be found. The flowers were gone because of me. Unwittingly I had helped to destroy one of the most beautiful fields of flowers to be found in Rocky Mountain National Park.
WORLD-WIDE DAMAGE
Over the next years I began to hear numerous stories of places being severely damaged either by photographers trying to get a particular shot or by the many visitors who came because of the photographers' photos. A couple of trips to Iceland showed me that this was not confined to the United States but was becoming a world-wide phenomenon. Visitation to some of the world's most beautiful and delicate places had grown at a rate far beyond what these areas could handle. People were seeing beautiful locations online and flocking to them to get their own photos. These hidden gems were being damaged or destroyed soon after they were publically exposed. At the same time photographers were going to ever greater extremes to get new images of wild places, tearing out lush moss off of hillsides and logs on their way to the base of waterfalls, crushing ancient sandstone fins and delicate crypto biotic soils in the deserts, jumping fences onto private property, lighting steel wool and fireworks, leaving trash, disturbing wildlife, and the list goes on. I began to wonder if we as photographers might be destroying the very thing we were celebrating with our photography, our spectacular natural world.
PROCESS OF ADDRESSING
I began talking with other professional nature photographers about this to get their opinion and most of them that I spoke with had their own stories and were very concerned. Yet no one was quite sure what could be done about it. So in 2016 I came up with a proposal that I circulated around searching for feedback. Through this process it slowly became clear that what was needed was a set of principles that would highlight best practices when photographing the natural world. So I organized a meeting with a number of well-known nature photographers and we gathered in Ridgway, Colorado in the spring of 2018. During our meeting we developed a set of 7 principles that we felt would help to curb our impact on the environment. Those who attended this meeting plus a few others have become the working group behind this initiative. Those in the working group are: Sarah Marino, Ron Coscorrosa, Jack Brauer, David Kingham, Jennifer Renwick, Matt Payne, Scott Bacon, Tony Litschewski, Mike Anderson, Eric Bennett, Phil Monson and myself.
Knowing that we don't represent the full spectrum of landscape photographers, we sent out our proposal to quite a large and diverse group of landscape photographers to get their input. We then spent much of the year tweaking and adjusting these principles based on their very helpful thoughts and suggestions, resulting in the seven principles listed on this website.
One of the concerns that was expressed early on was the potential impact on those who make their living from nature photography. As a number of us in the working group are professional nature photographers, we concretely sought to address this. The final principles we believed could be followed by pro-photographers. While it may change the way we approach delicate places, our hope is that these principles will help ensure that there are beautiful untouched natural places to photograph for generations to come.
Our aim is to change the culture of nature photography. We believe that nature photography should help celebrate, inform and protect the natural world, not lead to its damage or destruction. We've chosen the name "Nature First" as the very heart of these principles is putting the well-being of nature above our photography. We would like to see our community become one which is in the forefront of environmental care, bringing attention to our society of the need to care for and preserve natural lands.
We invite you to join this alliance of photographers committed to responsible nature photography. We don't have any agenda other than for you to join us in committing to applying these 7 principles in your own photography. This is an informal association of photographers who are passionate about caring for the natural world. We're not trying to be another Nature Photographer's Network (NPN) or North American Nature Photographer's Association (NANPA) but rather be a movement within the photo community that we hope will spread to all photographers and photo organizations across this planet. This movement isn't limited to nature photographers but is open to anyone who ever does photography in natural environments. We believe that by standing together around these principles that we will be able to change the current photography culture and do our part to help preserve the natural world.
We realize that this is just the start of what we can do to reclaim our role as ambassadors for the natural world and that there is still much work ahead. Eventually we'd like to gather together additional groups to develop principles that apply to their specific genre whether that be wildlife photography, portrait photography in nature or photo workshops. We also would like to become a force to encourage speaking out on behalf of the natural world and educating our world about the preciousness of our remaining wild lands.
I hope that you will join us in this endeavor. We aren't coming with all the answers but merely with the initiation of a platform where we can begin this journey together. We look forward to your participation, input and feedback via our forum as we develop this initiative together.
Estes Park, Colorado
Newer PostBen Horne on Nature First and the 7 Principles
Older PostCalifornia 2019 Superbloom | {
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"Sunday" => "Igandea",
"Monday" => "Astelehena",
"Tuesday" => "Asteartea",
"Wednesday" => "Asteazkena",
"Thursday" => "Osteguna",
"Friday" => "Ostirala",
"Saturday" => "Larunbata",
"January" => "Urtarrila",
"February" => "Otsaila",
"March" => "Martxoa",
"April" => "Apirila",
"May" => "Maiatza",
"June" => "Ekaina",
"July" => "Uztaila",
"August" => "Abuztua",
"September" => "Iraila",
"October" => "Urria",
"November" => "Azaroa",
"December" => "Abendua",
"Settings" => "Ezarpenak",
"seconds ago" => "segundu",
"_%n minute ago_::_%n minutes ago_" => array("orain dela minutu %n","orain dela %n minutu"),
"_%n hour ago_::_%n hours ago_" => array("orain dela ordu %n","orain dela %n ordu"),
"today" => "gaur",
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"_%n day ago_::_%n days ago_" => array("orain dela egun %n","orain dela %n egun"),
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"_%n month ago_::_%n months ago_" => array("orain dela hilabete %n","orain dela %n hilabete"),
"months ago" => "hilabete",
"last year" => "joan den urtean",
"years ago" => "urte",
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"Ok" => "Ados",
"_{count} file conflict_::_{count} file conflicts_" => array("",""),
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"Shared" => "Elkarbanatuta",
"Share" => "Elkarbanatu",
"Error" => "Errorea",
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"Password" => "Pasahitza",
"Allow Public Upload" => "Gaitu igotze publikoa",
"Email link to person" => "Postaz bidali lotura ",
"Send" => "Bidali",
"Set expiration date" => "Ezarri muga data",
"Expiration date" => "Muga data",
"Share via email:" => "Elkarbanatu eposta bidez:",
"No people found" => "Ez da inor aurkitu",
"group" => "taldea",
"Resharing is not allowed" => "Berriz elkarbanatzea ez dago baimendua",
"Shared in {item} with {user}" => "{user}ekin {item}-n elkarbanatuta",
"Unshare" => "Ez elkarbanatu",
"can edit" => "editatu dezake",
"access control" => "sarrera kontrola",
"create" => "sortu",
"update" => "eguneratu",
"delete" => "ezabatu",
"share" => "elkarbanatu",
"Password protected" => "Pasahitzarekin babestuta",
"Error unsetting expiration date" => "Errorea izan da muga data kentzean",
"Error setting expiration date" => "Errore bat egon da muga data ezartzean",
"Sending ..." => "Bidaltzen ...",
"Email sent" => "Eposta bidalia",
"Warning" => "Abisua",
"The object type is not specified." => "Objetu mota ez dago zehaztuta.",
"Delete" => "Ezabatu",
"Add" => "Gehitu",
"The update was unsuccessful. Please report this issue to the <a href=\"https://github.com/owncloud/core/issues\" target=\"_blank\">ownCloud community</a>." => "Eguneraketa ez da ongi egin. Mesedez egin arazoaren txosten bat <a href=\"https://github.com/owncloud/core/issues\" target=\"_blank\">ownCloud komunitatearentzako</a>.",
"The update was successful. Redirecting you to ownCloud now." => "Eguneraketa ongi egin da. Orain zure ownClouderea berbideratua izango zara.",
"%s password reset" => "%s pasahitza berrezarri",
"Use the following link to reset your password: {link}" => "Eribili hurrengo lotura zure pasahitza berrezartzeko: {link}",
"The link to reset your password has been sent to your email.<br>If you do not receive it within a reasonable amount of time, check your spam/junk folders.<br>If it is not there ask your local administrator ." => "Zure pasahitza berrezartzeko lotura zure postara bidalia izan da.<br>Ez baduzu arrazoizko denbora \nepe batean jasotzen begiratu zure zabor-posta karpetan.<br>Hor ere ez badago kudeatzailearekin harremanetan ipini.",
"Request failed!<br>Did you make sure your email/username was right?" => "Eskaerak huts egin du!<br>Ziur zaude posta/pasahitza zuzenak direla?",
"You will receive a link to reset your password via Email." => "Zure pashitza berrezartzeko lotura bat jasoko duzu Epostaren bidez.",
"Username" => "Erabiltzaile izena",
"Your files are encrypted. If you haven't enabled the recovery key, there will be no way to get your data back after your password is reset. If you are not sure what to do, please contact your administrator before you continue. Do you really want to continue?" => "Zure fitxategiak enkriptaturik daude. Ez baduzu berreskuratze gakoa gaitzen pasahitza berrabiaraztean ez da zure fitxategiak berreskuratzeko modurik egongo. Zer egin ziur ez bazaude kudeatzailearekin harremanetan ipini jarraitu aurretik. Ziur zaude aurrera jarraitu nahi duzula?",
"Yes, I really want to reset my password now" => "Bai, nire pasahitza orain berrabiarazi nahi dut",
"Your password was reset" => "Zure pasahitza berrezarri da",
"To login page" => "Sarrera orrira",
"New password" => "Pasahitz berria",
"Reset password" => "Berrezarri pasahitza",
"Personal" => "Pertsonala",
"Users" => "Erabiltzaileak",
"Apps" => "Aplikazioak",
"Admin" => "Admin",
"Help" => "Laguntza",
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"No secure random number generator is available, please enable the PHP OpenSSL extension." => "Ez dago hausazko zenbaki sortzaile segururik eskuragarri, mesedez gatiu PHP OpenSSL extensioa.",
"Without a secure random number generator an attacker may be able to predict password reset tokens and take over your account." => "Hausazko zenbaki sortzaile segururik gabe erasotzaile batek pasahitza berrezartzeko kodeak iragarri ditzake eta zure kontuaz jabetu.",
"Your data directory and files are probably accessible from the internet because the .htaccess file does not work." => "Zure data karpeta eta fitxategiak interneten bidez eskuragarri egon daitezke .htaccess fitxategia ez delako funtzionatzen ari.",
"For information how to properly configure your server, please see the <a href=\"%s\" target=\"_blank\">documentation</a>." => "Zure zerbitrzaria ongi konfiguratzeko, mezedez <a href=\"%s\" target=\"_blank\">dokumentazioa</a> ikusi.",
"Create an <strong>admin account</strong>" => "Sortu <strong>kudeatzaile kontu<strong> bat",
"Advanced" => "Aurreratua",
"Data folder" => "Datuen karpeta",
"Configure the database" => "Konfiguratu datu basea",
"will be used" => "erabiliko da",
"Database user" => "Datubasearen erabiltzailea",
"Database password" => "Datubasearen pasahitza",
"Database name" => "Datubasearen izena",
"Database tablespace" => "Datu basearen taula-lekua",
"Database host" => "Datubasearen hostalaria",
"Finish setup" => "Bukatu konfigurazioa",
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"Log out" => "Saioa bukatu",
"Automatic logon rejected!" => "Saio hasiera automatikoa ez onartuta!",
"If you did not change your password recently, your account may be compromised!" => "Zure pasahitza orain dela gutxi ez baduzu aldatu, zure kontua arriskuan egon daiteke!",
"Please change your password to secure your account again." => "Mesedez aldatu zure pasahitza zure kontua berriz segurtatzeko.",
"Lost your password?" => "Galdu duzu pasahitza?",
"remember" => "gogoratu",
"Log in" => "Hasi saioa",
"Alternative Logins" => "Beste erabiltzaile izenak",
"Updating ownCloud to version %s, this may take a while." => "ownCloud %s bertsiora eguneratzen, denbora har dezake."
);
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| {
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Witham's go-ahead double lifts Post 8 past Portsmouth
Mike Whaley mwhaley@fosters.com @mwhaley25
DOVER — Although his previous at-bat had a painful outcome — hard fly out to the center field fence with the bases loaded and two outs to end the fourth inning — Kaleb Witham wasn't in the mood to cry over spilt milk.
He was, however, angling for atonement.
With two on and one out in the sixth, and Dover Post 8 trailing Portsmouth by a run, Witham looked for and got the fastball he wanted. He drove a two-run double to the left-center gap to give Post 8 the lead for good en route to a much-needed 10-7 Senior Legion baseball District B victory over Post 6.
"I was just thinking fastball and try to put it the other way, drive in some runs," Witham said. "I knew the last at-bat I put it to the fence. I tired to think same approach, look for fastball; and he gave it to me."
Witham's hit off Portsmouth reliever Trevor Van Allen gave Dover an 8-7 lead. Alex Schlapak followed with another two-run double to left to give Port 8 a cushion in a game it trailed at one point, 5-1.
In the Portsmouth seventh, Jack Russo led off with a single, but that was it. After a fly out, Dover first baseman Alex Bostrom made a nice lunging snab to rob Oscar Lalime of a hit, and Drew Hudson bounced out to third to end the game.
Dover, which lost its previous two games to Post 6, remains very much alive in the hunt for a District B playoff spot at 4-5. Portsmouth evened its mark at 5-5.
Post 8 outhit Portsmouth, 17 to 4, led by by three players with three hits apiece. Schlapak was 3 for 4 with three runs and two RBIs, while Axel Post was 3 for 5 with a run and three runs batted in; and John Cantwell was 3 for 3 with a walk, a run and two RBIs.
"That was huge," Schlapak said of the win. "Especially since we dropped the past few. So that was a big one for us. It helps us go into next week."
Jacob Bisson also had a multiple-hit game, going 2 for 3 with two runs.
Portsmouth took a 5-1 lead in the second, scoring five runs on one hit, three walks, a hit batter and three Dover errors. The big blow was a three-run triple by Peyton Goodrich.
But Post 6 scored just two runs after that, one on a long, solo home run by Van Allen.
"We got out to the nice lead and then took our foot off the gas a little bit," said Portsmouth coach Matt Gladu. "Dover's got a really talented group of players. They can swing the bat and they did. We couldn't stop them."
Meanwhile, Dover cut the lead to 5-3 in the third with two runs on RBI doubles by Post and Cantwell.
After Van Allen's dinger made it 6-3 in the top of the fourth, Post 8 answered with three in the bottom to knot the score at 6-all. Post and Cantwell each had a bloop RBI single, sandwiched around Aiden McDonough's run-scoring fielder's choice.
Portsmouth took its last lead (7-6) in the fifth. Russo walked and was bunted to second by Pat Quinn. Lalime drove a deep ball to the right-center gap that Cantwell ran down for the second out. But he turned and unleashed a wild throw that sailed out of play over third base, allowing Russo to easily score from second.
Van Allen, one of four Portsmouth pitchers, took the loss. Dylan Paine was the winner for Dover, pitching a 1-2-3 sixth. Chris Johnson earned the save. Dover also used four pitchers.
"Next two weeks are big, the end of the season," said Dover coach Dave Rouleau. "It goes so ... quick. Hopefully we get on a little bit of a run. Anything can happen now because everybody (other than Nashua and Exeter) are packed together."
Both teams are home on Monday. Dover hosts Exeter, while Portsmouth entertains Londonderry. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 4,374 |
<?php
return [
'name' => 'Weikit',
'prefix' => 'admin',
'default_auth_guard' => 'sanctum',
'sanctum' => [
'auto_stateful_host' => true,
'auto_stateful_middleware' => true,
],
'middleware' => [
'auth' => Weikit\Http\Middleware\AuthenticateWithAdmin::class,
'guest' => Weikit\Http\Middleware\RedirectIfAuthenticated::class,
],
'services' => [
Weikit\Services\Contracts\MenuService::class => Weikit\Services\MenuService::class,
]
];
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 7,008 |
# Table of Contents
Start
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook"
} | 2,769 |
\section{Introduction} \label{introduction}
First discovered by \citet{ste65a}, the absorption band centered at about
217.5~nm ($\sim$5.7~eV) is the most intense interstellar extinction
feature. With a relatively constant peak wavelength, the so\textendash called
``UV bump'' has a Lorentz\textendash like profile \citep[e.g.,][]{sea79} whose
width varies considerably from one line of sight to another \citep{fit07}.
Both the strength and the position of the 217.5~nm feature suggest that it
originates in some form of carbonaceous material, known to display strong
$\pi\to\pi^\star$ electron transitions in this range. A large number of carrier
candidates have been proposed over the years, amongst which size\textendash restricted
graphite particles \citep{ste65b}, fullerenes, C$_{60}$ in particular,
\citep[e.g.,][]{bra91,igl04}, polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons
\citep[PAHs,][]{job92a,job92b}, coal\textendash like material \citep{pap96},
UV\textendash processed hydrogenated amorphous carbon particles \citep{men98},
nano\textendash sized hydrogenated carbon grains \citep{sch98}, and carbon
onions \citep{chh03}.
Since each PAH displays strong $\pi\to\pi^\star$ transition in the 5.7~eV region
\citep{job92a,job92b,dra03,mal04}, mixtures of PAHs must contribute to the
217.5~nm bump. Recently, \citet{ccp08} showed that such mixtures can account
for the entire bump, as well as its strength relative to the non\textendash linear far\textendash UV
rise, depending on the distribution of charge states in the PAH mixtures. The
UV bump was also attributed to a $\pi\to\pi^\star$ plasmon resonance from a very
limited number of strongly dehydrogenated derivatives of coronene
(C$_{24}$H$_{12}$), namely C$_{24}$H$_n$ and C$_{24}$H$_n$$^+$ with $n\leq3$. This
assignment was made on the basis of DDA scattering calculations \citep{dul98},
supported by laboratory studies of the UV absorption in amorphous carbon
\citep{dul04}.
The same molecules were also proposed as carriers of some of the diffuse
interstellar bands \citep{dul06b}. Indeed, models of the hydrogenation state
of PAHs predict small and medium\textendash sized PAHs ($\sim$20-30 carbon atoms) to be
highly dehydrogenated \citep{lep03}.
Since the effect of dehydrogenation on the electronic spectra of
isolated PAHs is poorly characterized, we recently undertook a detailed
study of the electronic excitation properties of dehydrogenated PAHs,
using state\textendash of\textendash the\textendash art quantum\textendash chemical tools \citep{mal08}. As a part of
this more detailed work, we present in this paper our first results for the
dehydrogenated derivatives of coronene (C$_{24}$H$_{12}$), and completely
dehydrogenated perylene
(C$_{20}$H$_{10}$) and ovalene (C$_{32}$H$_{14}$). We use them to
assess the specific case of the species introduced by \citet{dul06a},
whose computed spectral properties appear to be incompatible with the
observed UV\textendash bump, and search for general trends in the
electron properties of dehydrogenated PAHs.
Technical details of the calculations, as well as the justification for
the choice of molecules considered, are given
in Sect.~\ref{methods}. Results are presented and discussed in
the astrophysical context in Sect.~\ref{results}, and our
conclusions are reported in Sect.~\ref{conclusions}.
\begin{figure}[b!]
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip, width=2.5cm]{fig1a.eps}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip,width=2.5cm]{fig1b.eps}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip,width=2.5cm]{fig1c.eps}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip,width=2.45cm]{fig1d.eps}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip,width=2.4cm]{fig1e.eps}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip,width=2.3cm]{fig1f.eps}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip,width=2.4cm]{fig1g.eps}
\includegraphics[trim=3cm 3cm 3cm 3cm, clip,width=2.75cm]{fig1h.eps}
\caption{Geometries of the dehydrogenated coronene molecules considered
(C$_{24}$H$_{10}$, C$_{24}$H$_{8}$, C$_{24}$H$_{6}$, C$_{24}$H$_{4}$, C$_{24}$H$_{2}$, and
C$_{24}$), and of the completely dehydrogenated perylene (C$_{20}$)
and ovalene (C$_{32}$).
\label{mols}}
\end{center}
\end{figure}
\section{Methods}\label{methods}
\subsection{Computational details} \label{computation}
As in previous studies \citep{mal07a,mal07b} we used density functional theory
\citep[DFT,][]{jon89} for the electron ground state, and its
time\textendash dependent extension \citep[TD\textendash DFT,][]{mar04} for
electron excited states. Geometry optimisations were first performed using
the computationally inexpensive \mbox{4\textendash31G} basis set, then
refined with the \mbox{6\textendash31+G$^\star$} basis
\citep{fri84}. For this part of the work we used the hybrid B3LYP functional
\citep{bec93}, as implemented in the Gaussian\textendash based DFT module of
\textsc{NWChem} \citep{apr05}.
Starting from the geometry of each fully hydrogenated PAH
\citep{mal07a}, we considered its dehydrogenated derivatives.
We considered only neutral and cationic charge\textendash states, and
found in all cases that the computed ground\textendash states for
neutrals and cations are the singlet and the doublet, respectively.
All calculations were performed without symmetry constraints.
To evaluate the effect of dehydrogenation on the electronic structure of the
species considered, we performed exploratory
Harthree\textendash Fock/\mbox{4\textendash31G}
calculations. Following Koopman's theorem \citep{ela84}, we interpreted
the one\textendash electron molecular orbital energies thus obtained as
vertical ionisation energies.
Keeping fixed the ground\textendash state optimised geometries obtained above,
we then computed the absorption cross\textendash section $\sigma(E)$ using
the real\textendash time TD\textendash DFT implementation of
\textsc{octopus} \citep{mar03}, in the local\textendash density
approximation \citep{per81} as described in \citet{mal07a}. We previously
showed \citep{mal04,mul06b} that the results of this method reproduce the
overall far\textendash UV behaviour of $\sigma(E)$, as seen in comparison
with the experimental data available for a few neutral PAHs
\citep{job92a,job92b}. This includes the broad absorption peak dominated by
$\sigma\to\sigma^\star$ transitions, which matches well both in position and
width. The $\pi\to\pi^\star$ transitions from the visible to the UV
range, while their absolute intensities are well reproduced, show energies
that are systematically underestimated.
The TD\textendash DFT formalism used in this work yields directly the
time\textendash dependent linear response of a given molecule after an
impulsive perturbation, producing the whole spectrum in a single step
\citep{mar03}. This differs from the most widely used
frequency\textendash space TD\textendash DFT implementation, where the poles
of the linear response function correspond to vertical excitation energies,
and the pole strengths to the corresponding oscillator strengths \citep{cas95}.
We compare in Fig.~\ref{f2} the experimental absorption spectra of neutral
naphthalene \citep{gin98}, and anthracene \citep{job92a,job92b} with both the
real\textendash time TD\textendash DFT \citep{mal04} and the frequency\textendash space TD\textendash DFT \citep{mal07b}
spectra. The latter results agree better with the laboratory data. However,
computational costs scale steeply with the number of transitions and electronic
excitations of molecules as large as those considered here are thus
limited to the visible/near\textendash UV part of the spectrum.
\begin{figure}[h!]
\includegraphics{fig2.eps}
\caption{Comparison between the experimental (black line) absorption
cross\textendash section $\sigma(E)$ in megabarns (1Mb = $10^{-18}$~cm$^2$) of neutral
naphthalene \citep[top,][]{gin98}, and anthracene
\citep[bottom,][]{job92a,job92b}, and two different theoretical
results: the real\textendash time TD\textendash DFT spectrum \citep[red line,][]{mal04}, and the
frequency space TD\textendash DFT one \citep[blue line,][]{mal07b}.\label{f2}}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Choice of molecules}\label{sample}
We studied the dehydrogenated derivatives of coronene
C$_{24}$H$_{n}$ (n=10,8,6,4,2,0) in their neutral and cationic charge states.
We included only species with an even number of hydrogen atoms, based on
experimental mass spectra \citep{eke97} showing that dehydrogenation
corresponding to loss of an even number of hydrogen atoms is dominant.
In addition, experimental results on the dehydrogenation of the coronene
cation \citep{job08} show that, for C$_{24}$H$_{2n}^+$ molecules,
only species containing adjacent paired hydrogens have to be considered.
In particular, \citet{job08} found that the main hydrogen loss channel is
the detachment of single atoms; however, the photodissociation rate
for ``lone'' hydrogen atoms was observed to be much faster (about one order of
magnitude) than for paired hydrogen atoms. This implies that dehydrogenated
coronene derivatives containing adjacent paired hydrogens are more likely to
be found in interstellar conditions. Moreover, it appears that the placement
of the hydrogens at the periphery of the carbon skeleton has a minor effect on
the main $\pi \to \pi^\star$ transitions. Such transitions depend mainly on the number
of electrons populating the resonant $\pi$ and $\pi^\star$ molecular orbitals, which
depend only on the number of peripheral hydrogen atoms and not on their
specific position. As an example, Fig.~\ref{f3} shows the comparison between
the computed absorption cross\textendash sections of two isomers of C$_{24}$H$_{10}$$^+$,
whose geometries are sketched in the same figure. As expected, with the
exception of small details, the spectra of the two isomers are found to be
almost indistinguishable in the energy range of astrophysical interest. Our
study can therefore be restricted, without loss of generality for the scope of
the present paper, to only the isomers of C$_{24}$H$_{n}$ (n=10,8,6,4,2,0) shown
in Fig.~\ref{mols}. We additionally examined the completely dehydrogenated
derivatives of perylene (C$_{20}$H$_{10}$) and ovalene (C$_{32}$H$_{14}$) cations,
i.~e. C$_{20}^+$ and C$_{32}^+$, representative of non\textendash symmetric, dehydrogenated,
compact, medium\textendash sized PAHs.
\begin{figure}[h!]
\includegraphics{fig3.eps}
\caption{Comparison between the computed absorption cross\textendash section
of the two inequivalent isomers of C$_{24}$H$_{10}$$^+$ sketched on the right.
\label{f3}
}
\end{figure}
\section{Results and discussion} \label{results}
\subsection{Dehydrogenation and electronic excitation properties}
\begin{figure}
\includegraphics{fig4.eps}
\caption{First (asterisks) and second (diamonds) vertical ionisation energies
of dehydrogenated coronene molecules C$_{24}$H$_{x}$, computed at the
Harthree\textendash Fock/\mbox{4\textendash31G} level in the framework of
Koopman's theorem, as a function of the degree of hydrogenation.
The horizontal dotted lines correspond to the low\textendash{} and
high\textendash frequency cutoffs extracted from the interstellar
extinction curve in the model by \citet{dul06a}.
\label{f4}
}
\end{figure}
According to Koopman's theorem the molecular orbital energies obtained at
the Harthree\textendash Fock / \mbox{4\textendash31G} level are interpreted
as vertical ionisation energies. We report in Fig.~\ref{f4} the energies
corresponding to removal of an electron from both the highest occupied
molecular orbital (IP1) and the molecular orbital just below it (IP2),
as a function of the degree of hydrogenation ($x=0,2,4,6,8,10,12$). In
the model put forward by \citet{dul06a} the low\textendash{} and
high\textendash frequency cutoffs extracted from the interstellar
extinction curve, at about 7.3 and 9.1~eV respectively, are identified
with the IP1 and IP2 of the carrier of the UV bump. These values
were found to be in close agreement with those measured for neutral
coronene, 7.29 and 9.13~eV, respectively \citep{cla81}. Based on the
assumption that $\pi$\textendash electron energies are little affected by
dehydrogenation, this supported the proposal that a $\pi\to\pi^*$ plasmon
resonance in neutral and singly\textendash ionised dehydrogenated coronene
molecules could generate the UV bump. However, we found an approximately
constant change in ionization energy per hydrogen atom of about 0.1~eV
(cf. Fig.~\ref{f4}), suggesting that $\pi$\textendash electron
energies are indeed strongly affected by dehydrogenation. This is confirmed for
the adiabatic first ionization energies computed via total energy differences
at the B3LYP/\mbox{6\textendash31+G$^\star$} level: 7.02, 7.23, 7.38, 7.61,
7.79, 8.00, and 8.25~eV, when going from C$_{24}$H$_{12}$ to C$_{24}$.
The comparison between the computed absorption cross\textendash sections of
the different dehydrogenated coronene molecules considered, in their neutral
and cationic charge\textendash states, is presented in Fig.~\ref{f5}. The corresponding
comparisons between C$_{20}$H$_{10}^+$ and C$_{32}$H$_{14}^+$ and their
fully dehydrogenated counterparts are shown in Fig.~\ref{f6}. For both
neutral and singly\textendash ionised coronene
derivatives, progressive dehydrogenation translates into a correspondingly
progressive blue shift of the main electronic transitions (Fig.~\ref{f5}). The
$\pi\to \pi^\star$ collective resonance, in particular, becomes broader as
well as bluer with dehydrogenation. The same holds true for
the other PAHs reported in this work,
namely perylene and ovalene (Fig.~\ref{f6}), suggesting that this is a
general feature of the whole class of molecules.
\begin{figure}
\includegraphics{fig5.eps}
\caption{Comparison between the computed absorption
cross\textendash sections of coronene C$_{24}$H$_{12}$ (black), C$_{24}$H$_{10}$ (violet),
C$_{24}$H$_{8}$ (blue), C$_{24}$H$_{6}$ (cyan), C$_{24}$H$_{4}$ (green),
C$_{24}$H$_{2}$ (orange), and C$_{24}$ (red). Neutral molecules and their
corresponding cations are displayed in the top and bottom panel, respectively.
The dotted vertical line represents the position of the observed
UV bump at $\sim$5.7~eV.\label{f5}}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}
\includegraphics{fig6.eps}
\caption{Comparison between the computed absorption cross\textendash sections of
fully hydrogenated (black), and fully dehydrogenated (red) perylene
cation (C$_{20}$H$_{10}^+$) (top panel) and ovalene cation (C$_{32}$H$_{14}^+$)
(bottom panel). \label{f6}}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Astrophysical implications}
For a quantitative comparison with extinction, we estimate the expected
spectral contrast of the $\pi\to \pi^\star$ collective
resonance in a mixture of all the fully dehydrogenated species
considered so far. The top panel of Fig.~\ref{weighted}
shows the weighted sum of their absorption spectra, compared with the
same weighted sum for their fully hydrogenated parent molecules.
The $\pi\to \pi^\star$ feature appears to peak at $\sim$6.95~eV
($\sim$178~nm), with an integrated intensity above the underlying
continuum of about 1.3 times larger than the strong $\pi\to \pi^\star$ feature
at 5.95~eV associated with the hydrogenated counterparts.
\citet{ccp08} showed that mixtures of a large number of
fully hydrogenated PAHs can reproduce the UV bump and
non\textendash linear far\textendash UV rise of the extinction curve.
In particular, the UV bump is very accurately matched in position
($\sim$5.7~eV), intensity and width. Such a fit can only be obtained using
mixtures including a much larger sample of PAHs than those included here.
However, the position of the $\pi\to \pi^\star$ resonance, and its intensity
per carbon atom, are relatively insensitive to the individual species
considered.
In all cases, its peak is well within the observed width of the UV bump.
This is the reason why such transitions, in a mixture of
hydrogenated PAHs, become blended, yielding a smooth feature which can be very
similar to the observed UV bump profile.
In contrast, all completely dehydrogenated species considered here have the
peak of their $\pi\to \pi^\star$ resonance about $\sim$1~eV bluewards of the bump, in the
gap between it and the onset of the non\textendash linear far\textendash UV rise. The position and
intensity per carbon atom of the $\pi\to \pi^\star$ resonances of dehydrogenated PAHs,
as a family, can be expected to be as insensitive to individual species as for
their fully hydrogenated counterparts. A larger mixture, if this is the case,
would yield a smoother feature than the one we calculated with the present
sample, but generally with the same intensity and position.
Since no structure at $\simeq7$~eV is detected in the average galactic
interstellar extinction curve reported by \citet{fit07}, fully dehydrogenated
PAHs must produce a peak smaller than the error of the interstellar
extinction curve as illustrated in Fig.~\ref{weighted}.
Using a $2\sigma$ upper limit, we can derive that the integrated intensity
of the $\pi\to \pi^\star$ feature of dehydrogenated PAHs is less than $1/6$
of the bump area. Assuming that the bump is mainly due to hydrogenated PAHs
\citep{ccp08} and using the factor given above for the relative integrated
$\sigma(E)$, we derive that less than 1/8 of the total abundance of carbon
in PAHs is contained in strongly dehydrogenated PAHs.
Assuming $\mathrm{N}_\mathrm{H} \simeq 5.9 \times 10^{21}
\mathrm{E}_\mathrm{B-V}$ \citep{wit02}, and applying the procedure
of \citet{ccp08} to the average extinction curve
\citep[$\mathrm{R}_\mathrm{V} \simeq 3.01$ from][]{fit07} yields a value of
$\sim$150~ppM for the abundance of C locked in PAHs (including both the
free\textendash flying ones and those clustered in very small grains);
the upper limit of the contribution of dehydrogenated PAHs
to the extinction curve can then be translated into an upper limit of
$\sim$18~ppM for the carbon atoms contained in them. This numeric result is
obviously dependent on the choice to compare against the average
interstellar extinction curve, and would be different for a different
choice. We showed in \citet{ccp08} that the fraction
of carbon contained in free\textendash flying and clustered PAHs
is quite variable, from 85 to 187 ppm in a sample of lines of sight.
Our upper limit can be compared with those found by \citet{cla03} regarding
the column density of specific small, neutral, fully hydrogenated PAHs in
specific lines of sight, based on laboratory spectra and Hubble Space Telescope
observations. Their results are more stringent thanks to the stronger spectral
contrast of the absorption bands in their experimental spectra, coupled with
the matching high resolving power of the STIS instrument. For the present
comparison, however, such higher resolving power would not help, given the
broader nature of the spectral signature being sought.
\begin{figure}
\includegraphics{fig7.eps}
\caption{Top panel:
Weighted sum of the computed absorption cross\textendash sections of
C$_{20}^+$, C$_{24}$, C$_{24}^+$, and C$_{32}^+$ (continuous line),
and C$_{20}$H$_{10}^+$, C$_{24}$H$_{12}$, C$_{24}$H$_{12}^+$, and
C$_{32}$H$_{14}^+$ (dotted line), using as weight the inverse of the
number of C atoms in each molecule.
Bottom panel: comparison between the average extinction curve
\citep[dotted line,][]{fit07}, with the 1$\sigma$ region in
gray shade, and the average extinction curve + the amount of
dehydrogenated PAHs which would make the $\pi\to\pi^\star$ feature detectable
at 2$\sigma$ (continuous line).
\label{weighted}}
\end{figure}
\section{Conclusions}
\label{conclusions}
PAHs are expected to exist in a wide variety of interstellar environments,
in a complex statistical equilibrium of different charge and hydrogenation
states \citep[see e.g.,][]{tie05}. Modelling studies suggest that
intermediate\textendash size PAHs in the range of 20\textendash30 carbon atoms are stripped of
most of their hydrogen atoms but still survive under the conditions of the
diffuse interstellar medium \citep{lep03}.
We undertook a systematic theoretical study of the effects of dehydrogenation
on the electron properties of neutral and ionised PAHs using
state\textendash of\textendash the\textendash art quantum\textendash chemical
techniques in the framework of the real\textendash time TD\textendash DFT.
For all of the species considered so far, we found that, regardless of
charge\textendash state and molecular size, the $\pi\to \pi^\star$ collective
resonance broadens and shifts to higher energies with increasing
dehydrogenation.
When the molecule is half dehydrogenated or more, the band is shifted enough
to fall between the bump and the far\textendash UV rise of the extinction
curve. The associated species cannot be the carriers of the bump,
contrary to the proposal of \citet{dul06a}.
While it is overreaching to draw definitive conclusions based on the few cases
considered, our upper limits are due to systematic effects, and are thus
unlikely to depend strongly on the specific sample of molecules considered.
Nonetheless, a larger study, which is underway \citep{mal08}, will be needed
to assess to what extent the effect of dehydrogenation that we observed in UV
spectra of PAHs is systematic for the whole class.
\begin{acknowledgements}
G.~Malloci acknowledges financial support by Regione Autonoma della
Sardegna. G.~M., G.~M., and C.~C.\textendash P. acknowledge financial support
by MIUR under project CyberSar, call 1575/2004 of PON 2000\textendash2006. We
acknowledge the authors of \textsc{octopus} and the authors of
\textsc{nwchem}, A Computational Chemistry Package for Parallel Computers,
Version~4.7 (2005), PNNL, Richland, Washington, USA.
Parts of these simulations were carried out at CINECA (Bologna).
\end{acknowledgements}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 6,364 |
.class Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;
.super Landroid/view/GestureDetector$SimpleOnGestureListener;
.source "MultiPhoneWindowEvent.java"
# annotations
.annotation system Ldalvik/annotation/EnclosingMethod;
value = Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;-><init>(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)V
.end annotation
.annotation system Ldalvik/annotation/InnerClass;
accessFlags = 0x0
name = null
.end annotation
# instance fields
.field final synthetic this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
.field final synthetic val$this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
# direct methods
.method constructor <init>(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)V
.locals 0
.parameter
.parameter
.prologue
.line 1095
iput-object p1, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iput-object p2, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->val$this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
invoke-direct {p0}, Landroid/view/GestureDetector$SimpleOnGestureListener;-><init>()V
return-void
.end method
# virtual methods
.method public onDoubleTap(Landroid/view/MotionEvent;)Z
.locals 3
.parameter "e"
.prologue
.line 1099
iget-object v1, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v1, v1, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
#getter for: Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->ENABLED_ACTION_BAR_DOUBLE_TAPPING:Z
invoke-static {v1}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->access$1600(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)Z
move-result v1
if-eqz v1, :cond_0
.line 1100
iget-object v1, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v1, v1, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
#getter for: Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->mActivity:Landroid/app/Activity;
invoke-static {v1}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->access$200(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)Landroid/app/Activity;
move-result-object v1
invoke-virtual {v1}, Landroid/app/Activity;->getWindowMode()I
move-result v0
.line 1101
.local v0, windowMode:I
invoke-static {v0}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->isNormalWindow(I)Z
move-result v1
if-eqz v1, :cond_1
.line 1102
iget-object v1, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v1, v1, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
const/4 v2, 0x0
invoke-virtual {v1, v0, v2}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->multiWindow(IZ)V
.line 1108
.end local v0 #windowMode:I
:cond_0
:goto_0
const/4 v1, 0x1
return v1
.line 1105
.restart local v0 #windowMode:I
:cond_1
iget-object v1, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v1, v1, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
invoke-virtual {v1, v0}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->normalWindow(I)V
goto :goto_0
.end method
.method public onFling(Landroid/view/MotionEvent;Landroid/view/MotionEvent;FF)Z
.locals 5
.parameter "e1"
.parameter "e2"
.parameter "velocityX"
.parameter "velocityY"
.prologue
const/4 v1, 0x0
.line 1112
iget-object v2, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v2, v2, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
#getter for: Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->supportFlick:Z
invoke-static {v2}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->access$1700(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)Z
move-result v2
if-nez v2, :cond_1
.line 1144
:cond_0
:goto_0
return v1
.line 1116
:cond_1
if-eqz p1, :cond_0
if-eqz p2, :cond_0
.line 1120
invoke-virtual {p2}, Landroid/view/MotionEvent;->getY()F
move-result v2
invoke-virtual {p1}, Landroid/view/MotionEvent;->getY()F
move-result v3
sub-float/2addr v2, v3
float-to-int v0, v2
.line 1122
.local v0, dy:I
invoke-static {v0}, Ljava/lang/Math;->abs(I)I
move-result v2
const/16 v3, 0xa
if-le v2, v3, :cond_0
invoke-static {p4}, Ljava/lang/Math;->abs(F)F
move-result v2
invoke-static {p3}, Ljava/lang/Math;->abs(F)F
move-result v3
cmpl-float v2, v2, v3
if-lez v2, :cond_0
.line 1123
const/4 v2, 0x0
cmpl-float v2, p4, v2
if-lez v2, :cond_2
iget-object v2, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v2, v2, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
#getter for: Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->mWindowTitleBar:Landroid/view/View;
invoke-static {v2}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->access$1300(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)Landroid/view/View;
move-result-object v2
invoke-virtual {v2}, Landroid/view/View;->getVisibility()I
move-result v2
if-eqz v2, :cond_2
.line 1124
iget-object v2, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v2, v2, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
#getter for: Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->mWindowTitleBar:Landroid/view/View;
invoke-static {v2}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->access$1300(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)Landroid/view/View;
move-result-object v2
invoke-virtual {v2, v1}, Landroid/view/View;->setVisibility(I)V
.line 1125
iget-object v1, p0, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;->this$1:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;
iget-object v1, v1, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener;->this$0:Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;
#getter for: Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->mWindowTitleBar:Landroid/view/View;
invoke-static {v1}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;->access$1300(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent;)Landroid/view/View;
move-result-object v1
new-instance v2, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1$1;
invoke-direct {v2, p0}, Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1$1;-><init>(Lcom/android/internal/policy/impl/multiwindow/MultiPhoneWindowEvent$DoubleTapPinupListener$1;)V
const-wide/16 v3, 0x5dc
invoke-virtual {v1, v2, v3, v4}, Landroid/view/View;->postDelayed(Ljava/lang/Runnable;J)Z
.line 1141
:cond_2
const/4 v1, 0x1
goto :goto_0
.end method
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 3,465 |
Q: Fixing div at a specific position with negative margin, and animating it later on button click. I have a somehow complicated situation:
Here is a fiddle to try and explain it: http://jsfiddle.net/sqSj9/1/
What I want to do is put three divs at a fixed positions, with a negative margin-left, top and right (so hidden) and as soon as I click on a button, they should appear in an animated way to the middle of the page. I started doing this in a separate folder to try it, and it was working perfectly. and I got the result that you can see in the fiddle, ( so yes the fiddle is what I want to accomplish)
But as soon as I put the code in my actual website's code, first nothing appeared on click, so the animation didn't work.
when I removed position:fixed the animation started to appear,but the divs that appeared pushed the div that is behind, so let's say in the fiddle: the white div pushed the gray div to the bottom, instead of hiding it.
So my last solution was to put position:absolute . when I did this, the animation worked correctly, but the thing is that now, when i click on the button, the divs are animated but do not fill the size of my browser, which means that, let's say I have scrolled down a bit more, when I click on the button to animate, the animation takes place but I don't see it. I have to scroll up again to see it.
Here is another fiddle to show what I mean. scroll down and try it: http://jsfiddle.net/6xJhC/3/
So I am sure the is something wrong with my initial code, something that I shouldn't have added, but I just can't figure out what it is! Here are relevant parts of my code:
My html:
<?php include 'header.php';?>
<!-- this is where the header ends and index starts-->
<div id="container">
<div id="intro">
<!-- some content-->
</div>
<div id="content">
<section id="def">
<!-- some content-->
</section>
<div id="selected-program">
<div id="top">
<!-- some content-->
</div>
<div id="left">
<!-- some content-->
</div>
<div id="right">
<!-- some content-->
</div>
</div>
<section id="program">
<button id="click" value="click Me"> click me </button>
<!-- some content-->
</section>
<section id="rec">
<!-- some content-->
</section>
<section id="testi">
<!-- some content-->
</section>
<section id="contact">
<!-- some content-->
</section>
<?php include 'footer.php';?>
My js:
<script type="text/javascript">
$(document).ready(function(){
var allowScroll = true;
$("body").on('mousewheel DOMMouseScroll',function(e){ // this code prevents scrolling whenever the button is clicked is clicked
if (!allowScroll){
e.preventDefault();
}
});
$("#click").click(function(){
$("#top").animate({marginTop:'0px'},200);
$("#left").animate({marginLeft:'0px'},200);
$("#right").animate({marginRight:'0px'},200);
});
});
</script>
My css:
body, html{
margin:0;
padding:0;
background: #fff;
margin-bottom: 25px;
overflow-x: hidden;
}
#container{
padding-top:80px;
}
#intro{
background:url(images/main.jpg) no-repeat;
background-size: cover;
height:492px;
color: #fff;
position:fixed;
z-index: 0;
width:100%;
}
#content{
z-index: 600;
position: relative;
margin-top: 492px;
background: #fff;
}
#program {
height:700px;
}
#rec{
height:140px;
background: #f6f6f6;
}
#recommand{
width:490px;
padding-top:20px;
margin:auto;
height:100px;
}
#testi {
height:700px;
}
section{
border-bottom:1px solid;
border-color:#eee;
padding-left:130px;
}
#selected-program{
z-index: 100000;
}
#top{
width:100%;
height:80px;
margin-top:-120px;
background: #f6f6f6;
position:absolute;
border-top:1px solid #eee;
border-bottom:1px solid #eee;
}
#left{
left:0%;
margin-left:-859px;
padding-left:130px;
padding-top:30px;
width:860px;
height:603px;
margin-top:80px;
float:left;
position:absolute;
background:#fff;
}
#right{
right:0%;
margin-right:-449px;
float:right;
height:633px;
width:449px;
margin-top:80px;
border-left:1px solid #eee;
position:absolute;
background: #fff;
}
So Any help would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks in advance.
A: Right lets have a look here, this is using none of your code and I know this works!
So we set the divs that we want to hide to position: fixed; then put them out of sight using left, right and top.
From here is as simple as setting some jQuery (or Javascript) .click to tell the hidden divs to come out. Simple as.
So click anywhere on the screen to bring up the hidden divs and click again to hide them. Scroll down and click and they will be on the screen still because we position: fixed.
Have a mess around with it to learn how it works etc.
Note: For my one I used CSS transition for the animation.
HTML:
<div></div>
<div></div>
<div></div>
<div>Scroll Down and Click</div>
<div>Scroll Down and Click</div>
<span></span>
CSS:
html, body {
margin: 0;
}
div:nth-child(1) {
width: 200px;
height: 400px;
border: 1px solid;
background: #ddd;
position: fixed;
left: -401px;
-webkit-transition: left 2s;
transition: left 2s;
}
div:nth-child(2) {
width: 400px;
height: 200px;
border: 1px solid;
background: #ddd;
position: fixed;
top: -401px;
left: 0;
right:0;
margin: auto;
-webkit-transition: top 2s;
transition: top 2s;
}
div:nth-child(3) {
width: 200px;
height: 400px;
border: 1px solid;
background: #ddd;
position: fixed;
right: -401px;
-webkit-transition: right 2s;
transition: right 2s;
}
div:nth-child(4) {
width: 100%;
height: 500px;
border: 1px solid;
background: blue;
}
div:nth-child(5) {
width: 100%;
height: 500px;
border: 1px solid;
background: purple;
}
span {
height: 1000px;
width: 100%;
display: block;
position: absolute;
top: 0;
}
jQuery:
$("span").click(function () {
var clicks = $(this).data('clicks');
if (clicks) {
$("div:nth-child(1)").css("left", "-401px");
$("div:nth-child(2)").css("top", "-401px");
$("div:nth-child(3)").css("right", "-401px");
} else {
$("div:nth-child(1)").css("left", "0");
$("div:nth-child(2)").css("top", "0");
$("div:nth-child(3)").css("right", "0");
}
$(this).data("clicks", !clicks);
});
DEMO HERE
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 7,523 |
One of my favorite guitar solos of all time. Eddie Hazel created this fantastic solo to honor the death of his mother, and every note screams with pain and remorse. If you appreciate the art form of rock and roll guitar, you will feel this song like almost nothing else you'll ever hear. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 9,475 |
\section{Introduction}
Recently, an intriguing phenomenon of Frequency Principle (F-Principle) sheds light on understanding the success and failure of DNNs. It is discovered that, in various settings, deep neural networks (DNNs) fit the target function from low to high frequency during the training \citep{xu_training_2018,rahaman2018spectral,xu2019frequency}. The F-Principle implies that DNNs are biased toward a low-frequency fitting of the training data, which provides hints to the generalization of DNNs in practice \citep{xu2019frequency,ma2020slow}. The F-Principle provided valuable guidance in designing DNN-based algorithms \citep{cai_phase_2019,biland2019frequency,jagtap_adaptive_2020,liu2020multi}. The convergence behavior from low to high frequency is also consistent with other empirical studies showing that DNNs increase the complexity of the output function during the training process quantified by various complexity measures \citep{arpit2017closer,valle2018deep,mingard2019neural,nakkiran2019sgd}.
Despite of the rich practical implications of the F-Principle, the gap between F-Principle training dynamics and success or failure of DNNs (i.e., generalization performance) remains a key theoretical challenge. Bridging this gap requires an exact characterization of the F-Principle accounting for the conditions of overparameterization and finite training data in practice, which is not provided by existing theories \citep{basri2019convergence,bordelon2020spectrum,cao_towards_2020,e2019machine}
In this work, based on mean-field analysis of an infinite-width two-layer NN in the NTK regime, we derive the exact differential equation, namely Linear Frequency-Principle (LFP) model, governing the evolution of NN output function in the frequency domain during the training. Our exact computation applies for general activation functions with no assumption on size and distribution of training data. Our LFP model rigorously characterizes the F-Principle and unravels that higher frequencies evolves polynomially or exponentially slower than lower frequencies depending on the smoothness/regularity of the activation function. We further prove that LFP dynamics implicitly minimizes a Frequency-Principle norm (FP-norm), by which higher frequencies are more severely penalized depending on the inverse of their evolution rate. Specifically, for 1-d regression problems, this optimization yields linear spline, cubic spline or their combination depending on parameter initialization for ReLU activation. Finally, we derive an \textit{a priori} generalization error bound controlled by the FP-norm of the target function, which provides a unified qualitative explanation to the success and failure of DNNs. These three results are demonstrated by Theorems \ref{mainthm}, \ref{thm..EquivalenceDynamicsMinimization} and \ref{thm:priorierror}, respectively. For a better understanding of how we arrive three theorems, we depict the sketch of proofs for each theorem in Fig. \ref{sketch}.
The structure of the paper is organized as follows. We review related works in Section~\ref{sec:relatedworks}. Before we present our results, we introduce some preliminaries in Section~\ref{sec:Preliminaries}. Then, we show the exact computation of the LFP model in Section~\ref{sec:lfpmodel}. In Section \ref{sec:Explicitizing-the-implicit}, we explicitize the implicit bias of the F-Principle by proving the equivalence between the LFP model and an optimization problem. Further, we estimate an \textit{a priori} generalization error bound for the LFP model in Section~\ref{FPapriori}. In Section~\ref{sec:exps}, we use experiments to validate the effectiveness of the LFP model for ReLU and Tanh activation functions. Finally, we present conclusions and discussion in Section~\ref{sec:discussion}.
\begin{center}
\begin{figure}
\begin{centering}
\includegraphics[scale=0.75]{pic/sketch/sketch.pdf}
\par\end{centering}
\caption{Main theoretical results and sketch of proofs. \label{sketch} }
\end{figure}
\par\end{center}
\section{Related works}\label{sec:relatedworks}
A series of works have devoted to reveal underlying mechanisms of the F-Principle. \citet{xu2018understanding} and \citet{xu2019frequency} show that the gradient of low-frequency loss exponentially dominates that of high-frequency ones when parameters are small for DNNs with tanh activation. A key mechanism of F-Principle has been pointed out that the low-frequency dominant gradient is a consequence of the smoothness of the activation function. \citet{rahaman2018spectral} later extend the framework of tanh activation function to the ReLU activation function. \citet{luo2019theory} estimate the dynamics of different frequency components of the loss function for arbitrary data distribution with mild regularity assumption and sufficient large size of training data size.
At the same time with our work, several parallel works also analyze the F-Principle (or spectral bias) in the NTK regime. \citet{basri2019convergence} and \citet{cao_towards_2020} estimate the convergence speed of each frequency for two-layer wide ReLU networks in the NTK regime with the assumption of a sufficient large size of training data uniformly distributed on a hyper-sphere. \citet{basri2020frequency} release the assumption on data distribution to a nonuniform one, which is restricted to two-dimensional sphere, and they derive a similar frequency bias for two-layer wide ReLU networks in the NTK regime. \citet{bordelon2020spectrum} study the dependence of the spectral bias on the sample size. Several other works also focus on studying the spectral of Gram matrix in the NTK regime \citep{arora2019fine,yang2019fine}.
In this work, our exact derivation of linear frequency principle dynamics makes no assumption about the distribution and size of training data. It is the first NN-derived quantitative model that not only shows the origin of the F-Principle but also can be used to analyze both its training and generalization consequence \footnote{A previous incomplete version of this work is released at arXiv \citep{zhang2019explicitizing}.}.
\section{Preliminaries} \label{sec:Preliminaries}
We provide some preliminary results in this section.
\subsection{Fourier transforms}
The Fourier transform of a function $g$ is denoted by $\hat{g}$ or $\fF[g]$. The one-dimensional Fourier transform and its inverse transform is defined by
\begin{align}
\fF[g](\xi) & = \fF_{x\to\xi}[g](\xi) =\int_{\sR}g(x)\E^{-2\pi\I\xi x}\diff{x}, \\
\fF^{-1}[g](x) & = \fF^{-1}_{\xi\to x}[g](x) =\int_{\sR}g(\xi)\E^{2\pi\I\xi x}\diff{\xi}.
\end{align}
Based on these, we define the high-dimensional Fourier transform and its inverse transform:
\begin{align}
\fF[g](\vxi) & = \fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g](\vxi) = \int_{\sR^d}g(\vx)\E^{-2\pi\I\vxi\cdot\vx}\diff{\vx}, \\
\fF^{-1}[g](\vx) & = \fF^{-1}_{\vxi\to\vx}[g](\vx) = \int_{\sR^d}g(\vxi)\E^{2\pi\I\vxi\cdot\vx}\diff{\vxi}.
\end{align}
Here and latter, the vector $\vx\in\sR^d$ and
$\vx^{\perp}=\vx-(\vx\cdot\hat{\vw})\hat{\vw}$ for a given
$\vw\in\sR^d\backslash \{\vzero \}$ with $\hat{\vw}=\vw/\norm{\vw}$.
We list some useful and well-known results for one-dimensional as well as high-dimensional Fourier transforms in Appendix \ref{FTtable}.
To compute rigorously, we work in the theory of tempered distributions. Let $\fS(\sR^d)$ be the Schwartz space on $\sR^d$ and $\fS'(\sR^{d}):=(\fS(\sR^d))'$ is the space of tempered distributions.
For any Schwartz function $\phi\in\fS(\sR^d)$ and any tempered distribution $\psi\in \fS'(\sR^{d})$, we write the pairing $\langle \psi,\phi\rangle:=\langle \psi,\phi\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^d),\fS(\sR^d)}=\psi(\phi)$, and then the Fourier transform of $\psi$ is defined by
\begin{equation}
\langle \fF[\psi],\phi\rangle
= \langle \psi,\fF[\phi]\rangle.
\end{equation}
\subsection{High-dimensional delta-like function}
\begin{defi}
Given a nonzero vector $\vw\in\sR^d$, we define the delta-like function
$\delta_{\vw}: \fS(\sR^d)\to\sR$ such that for any $\phi\in \fS(\sR^d)$,
\begin{equation}
\langle\delta_{\vw},\phi\rangle=\int_{\sR}
\phi(y\vw)\diff{y}.
\end{equation}
\end{defi}
\begin{lem}[Scaling property of delta-like function] Given any nonzero vector $\vw\in\sR^d$ with
$\hat{\vw}=\frac{\vw}{\norm{\vw}}$, we have
\begin{align}
\frac{1}{\norm{\vw}^d}\delta_{\hat{\vw}}\left(
\frac{\vx}{\norm{\vw}}\right)=\delta_{\vw}(\vx).
\end{align}
\end{lem}
\begin{proof} This is proved by changing of variables. In fact, for any $\phi\in\fS(\sR^d)$, we have
\begin{align*}
\left\langle\frac{1}{\norm{\vw}^d}\delta_{\hat{\vw}}\left(
\frac{\cdot}{\norm{\vw}}\right),\phi(\cdot)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^d),\fS(\sR^d)}
& =\left\langle\delta_{\hat{\vw}}(\cdot), \phi(\norm{\vw}\cdot)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^d),\fS(\sR^d)}\\
& = \int_{\sR}\phi\left(\norm{\vw}y\hat{\vw}\right)\diff{y} \\
& = \int_{\sR}\phi(y\vw)\diff{y} \\
& = \left\langle\delta_{\vw}(\cdot),\phi(\cdot)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^d),\fS(\sR^d)}.
\end{align*}
\end{proof}
\begin{lem}[Fourier transforms of network functions]
For any unit vector $\vnu\in\sR^d$, any nonzero vector $\vw\in\sR^d$ with
$\hat{\vw}=\frac{\vw}{\norm{\vw}}$, and $g\in\fS'(\sR)$ with
$\fF[g]\in C(\sR)$, we have, in the sense of distribution,
\begin{align}
\text{(a)}\quad & \fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\vnu^\T\vx)](\vxi)
= \delta_{\vnu}(\vxi)\fF[g](\vxi^\T\vnu), \\
\text{(b)}\quad & \fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\vw^\T\vx+b)](\vxi)
= \delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\fF[g]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\E^{2\pi\I
\frac{b}{\norm{\vw}}\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}, \\
\text{(c)}\quad & \fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[\vx g(\vw^\T\vx+b)](\vxi)
= \frac{\I}{2\pi}\nabla_{\vxi}\left[\delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\fF[g]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\E^{2\pi\I \frac{b}{\norm{\vw}}
\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}\right].
\end{align}
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
Let $\phi\in\fS(\sR^d)$ be any test function.
\begin{enumerate}[(a)]
\item By direct calculation, we have
\begin{align*}
\left\langle\fF_{\vx\to\cdot}[g(\vnu^\T\vx)](\cdot),\phi(\cdot)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^d),\fS(\sR^d)}
& = \left\langle g(\vnu^\T\cdot),\fF_{\vx\to\cdot}[\phi(\vx)](\cdot)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^d),\fS(\sR^d)}\\
& = \left\langle g(\cdot),\fF_{y\to\cdot}[\phi(y\vnu)](\cdot)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR),\fS(\sR)}\\
& = \left\langle\fF_{y\to\cdot}[g(y)](\cdot),\phi(\cdot\vnu)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR),\fS(\sR)}\\
& = \left\langle\fF[g](\cdot\vnu^\T\vnu),\phi(\cdot\vnu)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR),\fS(\sR)}\\
& = \left\langle\delta_{\vnu}(\cdot)\fF[g](\cdot^\T\vnu)
,\phi(\cdot)\right\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^d),\fS(\sR^d)}.
\end{align*}
\item By part (a), we have in the distributional sense
\[
\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\hat{\vw}^\T\vx)](\vxi)=\delta_{\hat{\vw}}(\vxi)
\fF[g](\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}).
\]
Note that
\[
\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\vx-\vx_0)](\vxi)
=\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g](\vxi)\E^{-2\pi\I\vx_0^\T\vxi},
\]
then
\begin{align*}
\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\hat{\vw}^\T \vx+b)](\vxi)
& = \fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\hat{\vw}^\T(\vx+b\hat{\vw}))](\vxi) \\
& = \delta_{\hat{\vw}}(\vxi)\fF[g](\vxi^\T\hat{\vw})
\E^{2\pi\I b\hat{\vw}^\T\vxi}.
\end{align*}
Therefore
\begin{align*}
\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\vw^\T\vx+b)](\vxi)
& = \fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\hat{\vw}^\T\norm{\vw}\vx+b)](\vxi) \\
& = \frac{1}{\norm{\vw}^d}\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[g(\hat{\vw}^\T\vx+b)]
\left(\frac{\vxi}{\norm{\vw}}\right) \\
& = \frac{1}{\norm{\vw}^d}\delta_{\hat{\vw}}\left(
\frac{\vxi}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\fF[g]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\E^{2\pi\I
\frac{b}{\norm{\vw}}\hat{\vw}^\T\vxi} \\
& = \delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\fF[g]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\E^{2\pi\I
\frac{b}{\norm{\vw}}\hat{\vw}^\T\vxi}.
\end{align*}
\item This follows from part (b) and the fact that for any function
$\tilde{g}(\vx)$
\begin{equation*}
\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[\vx \tilde{g}(\vx)](\vxi)
= \frac{\I}{2\pi}\nabla_{\vxi}\left[\fF[g](\vxi)\right].
\end{equation*}
\end{enumerate}
\end{proof}
\section{Exact derivation of LFP model}\label{sec:lfpmodel}
In this section, we first present the general form of the LFP model for two-layer neural networks. Then, we exactly compute the LFP model in the Fourier domain and derive the expressions for two commonly-used activation functions, i.e., $\ReLU(x):=\max(x,0)$ and $\tanh(x)$.
For any positive integer $N$, we denote the set $\{1,2,\cdots,N\}$ by $[N]$. The training data-set $S=\{(\vx_i,y_i)\})_{i=1}^n$, where $\{\vx_i\}_{i=1}^n$ are i.i.d. sampled from unknown distribution $\fD$ on a domain $\Omega\subset\sR^d$ and $y_i=f(\vx_i)$, $i\in[n]$ for some unknown function $f$.
\subsection{Mean-field kernel dynamics in frequency domain}
We suppose that $f\in C(\sR^d)\cap L^2(\sR^d)$ and that the activation function is locally $H^1$ and grows polynomially, i.e., $\abs{\sigma(z)}\leq C\abs{z}^p$ for some $p>0$.
We consider the following gradient descent dynamics of the population risk $\RS$ of a network function $f(\cdot,\vtheta)$ parameterized by $\vtheta$
\begin{equation}
\left\{
\begin{array}{l}
\dot{\vtheta}=-\nabla_{\vtheta}\RS(\vtheta), \\
\vtheta(0)=\vtheta_0,
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation}
where
\begin{equation}
\RS(\vtheta)
= \frac{1}{2}\sum_{i=1}^n(f(\vx_i,\vtheta)-y_i)^2.
\end{equation}
Then the training dynamics of output function $f(\cdot,\vtheta)$ is
\begin{align*}
\frac{\D}{\D t}f(\vx,\vtheta)
&= \nabla_{\vtheta}f(\vx,\vtheta)\cdot\dot{\vtheta}\\
&= -\nabla_{\vtheta}f(\vx,\vtheta)\cdot\nabla_{\vtheta}\RS(\vtheta)\\
&= -\nabla_{\vtheta}f(\vx,\vtheta)\cdot\sum_{i=1}^n \nabla_{\vtheta}f(\vx_i,\vtheta)(f(\vx_i,\vtheta)-y_i)\\
&= -\sum_{i=1}^n K_m(\vx,\vx_i)(f(\vx_i,\vtheta)-y_i)
\end{align*}
where for time $t$ the NTK evaluated at $(\vx,\vx')\in\Omega\times\Omega$ reads as
\begin{equation}
K_m(\vx,\vx')(t)=\nabla_{\vtheta}f(\vx,\vtheta(t))\cdot\nabla_{\vtheta}f(\vx',\vtheta(t)).
\end{equation}
The gradient descent of the linear model thus becomes
\begin{equation}
\frac{\D}{\D t}\Big(f(\vx,\vtheta(t))-f(\vx)\Big)=-\sum_{i=1}^n K_m(\vx,\vx_i)(t)\Big(f(\vx_i,\vtheta(t))-f(\vx_i)\Big).
\end{equation}
Define the residual $\vu(\vx,t)=f(\vx,\vtheta(t))-f(\vx)$ and the empirical density $\rho(\vx)=\sum_{i=1}^n\delta(\vx-\vx_i)$. We further denote $u_{\rho}(\vx)=u(\vx)\rho(\vx)$. Therefore the dynamics for $u$ becomes
\begin{equation}
\frac{\D}{\D t}u(\vx,t)=-\int_{\sR^d}K_m(\vx,\vx')(t)u_{\rho}(\vx',t)
\diff{\vx'}.\label{eq..DynamicsFiniteWidth}
\end{equation}
From now on, we consider the two-layer neural network
\begin{align}
f(\vx,\vtheta)
&= \frac{1}{\sqrt{m}}\sum_{j=1}^{m}a_{j}\sigma(\vw_{j}^{\T}\vx+b_{j})\label{eq: 2layer-nn}\\
&= \frac{1}{\sqrt{m}}\sum_{j=1}^{m}\sigma^{*}(\vx,\vq_{j}).
\end{align}
where the vector of all parameters $\vtheta=\mathrm{vec}(\{\vq_j\}_{j=1}^m)$ is formed of the parameters for each neuron $\vq_{j}={(a_{j},\vw_{j}^{\T},b_{j})}^{\T}\in\sR^{d+2}$
and $\sigma^{*}(\vx,\vq_{j})=a_{j}\sigma(\vw_{j}^{\T}\vx+b_{j})$
for $j\in[m]$. We consider the kernel regime that $m\gg 1$ and assume that $b\sim\fN(0,\sigma_{b}^{2})$ with $\sigma_{b}\gg 1$.
For the two-layer network, its NTK can be calculated as follows
\begin{equation}
K_m(\vx,\vx')(t)= \frac{1}{m}\sum_{j=1}^m\nabla_{\vq_j}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq_j(t))\cdot\sigma^*(\vx',\vq_j(t)),
\end{equation}
where the parameters $\vq_j$'s are evaluated at time $t$.
Under some weak condition and for sufficiently large $m$, E et al. \citet{e2019comparative} proved that the dynamics \eqref{eq..DynamicsFiniteWidth}, with a high probability, converges to the following dynamics for any $t\in\sR$
\begin{equation}
\frac{\D}{\D t}u(\vx,t)=-\int_{\sR^d}K(\vx,\vx')u_{\rho}(\vx',t)
\diff{\vx'}.\label{eq..DynamicsInfiniteWidth}
\end{equation}
where the kernel only depends on the initial distribution of parameters and reads as
\begin{align}
K(\vx,\vx')
&= \Exp_{\vq} \nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq)\cdot\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)\\
&= \Exp_{\vq} (\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)\sigma(\vw^\T\vx'+b)+a^2\sigma'(\vw^\T\vx+b)\sigma'(\vw^\T\vx'+b)\vx^\T\vx' \nonumber\\
&~~+a^2\sigma'(\vw^\T\vx+b)\sigma'(\vw^\T\vx'+b)).
\end{align}
Intuitively, this is because $K_m(\vx,\vx')(t)=K(\vx,\vx')+O(\frac{1}{\sqrt{m}})$ according to the law of large numbers.
In the following, we analyze \eqref{eq..DynamicsInfiniteWidth} and calculate its formulation in the frequency domain.
We start with the following lemma.
\begin{lem}[LFP dynamics for general DNNs]\label{lem:dynamics}
The dynamics \eqref{eq..DynamicsInfiniteWidth} has the following expression in the frequency domain
\begin{equation}
\langle\partial_{t}\fF[u],\phi\rangle = \langle\fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]],\phi\rangle, \label{lfpprocess}
\end{equation}
where $\fL[\cdot]$ is called Linear F-Principle (LFP) operator is given by
\begin{equation*}
\fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]]=-\int_{\sR^{d}}\hat{K}(\vxi,\vxi')\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi')\diff{\vxi'},
\end{equation*}
and
\begin{equation}
\hat{K}(\vxi,\vxi') :=\Exp_{\vq}\hat{K}_{\vq}(\vxi,\vxi') :=\Exp_{\vq}\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^{*}(\vx,\vq)]\cdot\overline{\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^{*}(\vx',\vq)]}.
\end{equation}
The expectation $\Exp_{\vq}$ is taken w.r.t. initial distribution of parameters.
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
For any $\phi\in \fS(\sR^{d})$. since $\partial_t u$ is in $\fS'(\sR^d)$ and locally integrable, we have
\begin{align*}
\langle\partial_{t}\fF[u],\phi\rangle
&= \langle\partial_{t}u,\fF[\phi]\rangle\\
&= \int_{\sR^{d}}\partial_{t}u(\vx,t)\int_{\sR^{d}}\phi(\vxi)\E^{-\I2\pi\vx\cdot\vxi}\diff{\vxi}\diff{\vx}\\
&= -\int_{\sR^{d}}\int_{\sR^{d}}K(\vx,\vx')u_{\rho}(\vx')\diff{\vx'} \int_{\sR^{d}}\phi(\vxi)\E^{-\I2\pi\vx\cdot\vxi}\diff{\vxi}\diff{\vx}\\
&= -\int_{\sR^{3d}}K(\vx,\vx')u_{\rho}(\vx')\diff{\vx'}\phi(\vxi)\E^{-\I2\pi\vx\cdot\vxi}\diff{\vxi}\diff{\vx}\\
&= -\int_{\sR^{3d}}\Exp_{\vq}\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq)\cdot\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)u_{\rho}(\vx')\diff{\vx'}\phi(\vxi)\E^{-\I2\pi\vx\cdot\vxi}\diff{\vxi}\diff{\vx}\\
&= -\Exp_{\vq}\int_{\sR^{d}}\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)u_{\rho}(\vx')\diff{\vx'}\cdot\int_{\sR^{2d}}\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq)\E^{-\I2\pi\vx\cdot\vxi}\phi(\vxi)\diff{\vxi}\diff{\vx}\\
&= -\Exp_{\vq}\int_{\sR^{d}}\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)u_{\rho}(\vx')\diff{\vx'}\cdot
\left\langle\fF_{\vx\to\cdot}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq)](\cdot),\phi(\cdot)\right\rangle.
\end{align*}
Since
\begin{equation*}
\int_{\sR^{d}}\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)u_{\rho}(\vx')\diff{\vx'}
=\int_{\sR^{d}}\overline{\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)](\vxi')}\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[u_{\rho}](\vxi')\diff{\vxi'},
\end{equation*}
we have
\begin{align*}
\langle\partial_{t}\fF[u],\phi\rangle
&= -\Exp_{\vq}\int_{\sR^{d}}\overline{\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)](\vxi')}\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[u_{\rho}](\vxi')\diff{\vxi'}\cdot\left\langle\fF_{\vx\to\cdot}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq)](\cdot),\phi(\cdot)\right\rangle\\
&= -\Exp_{\vq}\int_{\sR^{2d}}\overline{\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx',\vq)](\vxi')}\cdot\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq)](\vxi)\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[u_{\rho}](\vxi')\diff{\vxi'}\phi(\vxi)\diff{\vxi}\\
&= -\int_{\sR^{2d}}\hat{K}(\vxi,\vxi')\fF[u_\rho](\vxi')\diff{\vxi'}\phi(\vxi)\diff{\vxi}\\
&= \langle\fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]],\phi\rangle.
\end{align*}
\end{proof}
\subsection{LFP dynamics derived for two-layer networks}
In this section, we derive the LFP dynamics for two-layer networks with general activation function. The key difficulty comes from the repeated integral representation of the operator. By using the Laplace method in a proper way, we overcome this difficulty and arrive at a simpler expression for the dynamics.
To simplified the notation, we define $\vg_1(z):=(\sigma(z),a\sigma'(z))^\T$ and $g_2(z):=a\sigma'(z)$ for $z\in\sR$. Then
\begin{align}
\vg_1(\vw^\T\vx+b)
&= \begin{pmatrix}
\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)\\
a\sigma'(\vw^\T\vx+b)
\end{pmatrix}
= \begin{pmatrix}
\partial_a [a\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)] \\
\partial_b [a\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)]
\end{pmatrix}
,\\
g_2(\vw^\T\vx+b)\vx
&= \nabla_{\vw}[a\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)]
= a\sigma'(\vw^\T\vx+b)\vx.
\end{align}
The following theorem is the key to the exact expression of LFP dynamics for two-layer networks.
\begin{assump}\label{assump..InitialDist}
We assume that the initial distribution of $\vq=(a,\vw^\T,b)^\T$ satisfies the following conditions:
\begin{enumerate}[(i)]
\item independence of $a,\vw,b$: $\rho_{\vq}(\vq)=\rho_{a}(a)\rho_{\vw}(\vw)\rho_{b}(b)$.
\item zero-mean and finite variance of $b$: $\Exp_{b}b=0$ and $\Exp_b b^2=\sigma_b^2<\infty$.
\item radially symmetry of $\vw$
: $\rho_{\vw}(\vw)=\rho_{\vw}(\norm{\vw}\ve_1)$ where $\ve_1=(1,0,\cdots,0)^\T$.
\end{enumerate}
\end{assump}
\begin{thm}[Main result: explicit expression of LFP operator for two-layer networks]\label{mainthm}
Suppose that Assumption \ref{assump..InitialDist} holds. If $\sigma_b\gg 1$, then the dynamics \eqref{eq..DynamicsInfiniteWidth} has the following expression,
\begin{equation} \label{thmdyna}
\langle\partial_t\fF[u], \phi\rangle = -\left\langle \fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]], \phi \right\rangle+O(\sigma_b^{-3}),
\end{equation}
where $\phi\in \fS(\sR^d)$ is a test function and the LFP operator is given by
\begin{equation} \label{eq..lfpoperatorthm}
\begin{aligned}
\fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]]
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b\norm{\vxi}^{d-1}}\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{1}{r}\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\cdot\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{-\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\right]\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi) \\
& \quad -\frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\nabla\cdot\left (\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{1}{r\norm{\vxi}^{d-1}}\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\fF[g_2]\left(-\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\right]\nabla\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi) \right).
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
The expectations are taken w.r.t. initial parameter distribution. Here $r = \norm{\vw}$ with the probability density
$\rho_r(r) := \frac{2\pi^{d/2}}{\Gamma(d/2)}\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)r^{d-1}$, $\ve_1=(1,0,\cdots,0)^\T$.
\end{thm}
\begin{rmk}
The operator $\fL$ presents a unified framework for general activation functions.
\end{rmk}
\begin{rmk}
The derivatives of most activation functions decay in the Fourier domain, e.g., $\ReLU$, $\tanh$, and sigmoid. Hence, the dynamics in \eqref{thmdyna} for higher frequency component is slower, i.e., F-Principle.
\end{rmk}
\begin{rmk}
The last term in Eq. \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm} arises from the evolution of $\vw$ is much more complicated, without which our experiments show that the LFP model can still predict the learning results of two-layer wide NNs.
\end{rmk}
\begin{proof}
For simplicity, we assume that $b\sim\fN(0,\sigma^2_b)$, $\sigma_b\gg 1$ in this proof. It is straightforward to extend the proof to general distributions for $b$ as long as it is zero-mean and with variance $\sigma_b\gg 1$.
1. Divide into two parts. Note that
\begin{equation}
\begin{pmatrix}
\vg_1(\vw^\T\vx+b) \\
\vx g_2(\vw^\T\vx+b)
\end{pmatrix}
= \begin{pmatrix}
\partial_a [a\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)] \\
\partial_b [a\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)] \\
\nabla_{\vw} [a\sigma(\vw^\T\vx+b)]
\end{pmatrix}
=\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^*(\vx,\vq).
\end{equation}
One can split the Fourier transformed kernel $\hat{K}$ into two parts, more precisely,
\begin{equation*}
\hat{K}=\Exp_{\vq}\hat{K}_{\vq},\quad \hat{K}_{\vq}=\hat{K}_{a,b}+\hat{K}_{
\vw},
\end{equation*}
where
\begin{align*}
\hat{K}_{\vq}(\vxi,\vxi')
& = \Exp_{\vq}\fF_{\vx\to\vxi}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^{*}(\vx,\vq)]\cdot\overline{\fF_{\vx'\to\vxi'}[\nabla_{\vq}\sigma^{*}(\vx',\vq)]},\\
\hat{K}_{a,b}(\vxi,\vxi')
& = \fF\left[\vg_1(\vw^\T\vx+b)\right]\cdot\overline{\fF
\left[\vg_1(\vw^\T\vx'+b)\right]},\\
\hat{K}_{\vw}(\vxi,\vxi')
& = \fF\left[\vx g_2(\vw^\T\vx+b)\right]\cdot\overline{\fF\left[\vx g_2(\vw^\T\vx'+b)\right]}.
\end{align*}
For any $\phi,\psi\in \fS(\sR^d)$, we have
\begin{align}
\langle\hat{K}_{\vq}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle
:=
\langle\hat{K}_{\vq}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle_{\fS'(\sR^{2d}),\fS(\sR^{2d})}
=
\int_{\sR^{2d}}\hat{K}_{\vq}(\vxi,\vxi')\phi(\vxi)
\psi(\vxi')\diff{\vxi}\diff{\vxi'}.
\end{align}
The expressions for $\hat{K}_{a,b}$ and $\hat{K}_{\vw}$ are similar.
2. Calculate $\hat{K}_{a,b}(\vxi,\vxi')$.
Since
\begin{align*}
\hat{K}_{a,b}(\vxi,\vxi')
& = \delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\delta_{\vw}(\vxi')\fF[\vg_1]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1]\left(
\frac{\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)}\E^{2\pi\I b{(\vxi-\vxi')}^\T
\hat{\vw}/ \norm{\vw}},
\end{align*}
we have
\begin{align*}
\langle\hat{K}_{a,b}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle
& = \int_{\sR^{2d}}
\delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\delta_{\vw}(\vxi')\fF[\vg_1]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1]\left(
\frac{\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)}\E^{2\pi\I b{(\vxi-\vxi')}^\T
\hat{\vw}/ \norm{\vw}}
\phi(\vxi)\psi(\vxi')\diff{\vxi}\diff{\vxi'} \\
& = \int_{\sR\times\sR}\phi(\eta\vw)\psi(\eta'\vw)\fF[\vg_1](\eta)
\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta')}
\E^{2\pi\I b(\eta-\eta')}\diff{\eta}\diff{\eta'}.
\end{align*}
By assumption $b\sim\fN(0,\sigma_b^2)$, i.e.,
$\rho_{b}(b)=\dfrac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_{b}}
\E^{-\frac{b^{2}}{2\sigma_{b}^{2}}}$, then
$\fF[\rho_{b}](\eta)=\E^{-2\pi^2\sigma_{b}^{2}\eta^{2}}$.
\begin{align*}
\Exp_{b}\left(\E^{2\pi\I b(\eta-\eta')}\right)
& = \int_{\sR}\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_{b}}
\E^{-b^2/2\sigma_b^2}\E^{2\pi\I b(\eta-\eta')}\diff{b} \\
& = \fF[\rho_b]\left(-(\eta-\eta')\right) \\
& = \E^{-2\pi^2\sigma_{b}^{2}{(\eta-\eta')}^2}.
\end{align*}
Therefore
\begin{align*}
\Exp_{b}\left[\langle\hat{K}_{a,b}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle\right]
& = \int_{\sR\times\sR}\phi(\eta\vw)\psi(\eta'\vw)\fF[\vg_1](\eta)
\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}\Exp_{b}\left[
\E^{2\pi\I b(\eta-\eta')}\right]\diff{\eta}\diff{\eta'} \\
& = \int_{\sR\times\sR}\phi(\eta\vw)\psi(\eta'\vw)\fF[\vg_1](\eta)
\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}
\E^{-2\pi^2\sigma_{b}^{2}{(\eta-\eta')}^2}\diff{\eta}\diff{\eta'}.
\end{align*}
Applying the Laplace method, we have
\begin{align*}
\Exp_{b}\left[\langle\hat{K}_{a,b}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle\right]
& = \int_{\sR}\phi(\eta\vw)\fF[\vg_1](\eta)\cdot
\left[\int_{\sR}\psi(\eta'\vw)\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}\E^{-2\pi^2
\sigma_{b}^{2}{(\eta-\eta')}^2}\diff{\eta'}\right]\diff{\eta} \\
& = \int_{\sR}\phi(\eta\vw)\fF[\vg_1](\eta)\cdot
\left[\psi(\eta\vw)\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_b}
+O(\sigma_b^{-3})\right]\diff{\eta} \\
& = \frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_b}\int_{\sR}\phi(\eta\vw)\psi(\eta\vw)
\fF[\vg_1](\eta)\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}\diff{\eta}+O(\sigma_b^{-3}).
\end{align*}
Next we consider the expectation with respect to $\vw$. Up to error of order
$O(\sigma_c^{-3})$, we have
\begin{align*}
\Exp_{\vw,b}\left[\langle\hat{K}_{a,b}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle\right]
& = \Exp_{\vw}\left[\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_b}
\int_{\sR}\phi(\eta\vw)\psi(\eta\vw)\fF[\vg_1](\eta)
\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}\diff{\eta}\right] \\
& = \int_{\sR^{d+1}}\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_b}
\phi(\eta\vw)\psi(\eta\vw)\fF[\vg_1](\eta)
\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}\rho_{\vw}(\vw)\diff{\vw}\diff{\eta}.
\end{align*}
Here we assume that $\rho_{\vw}$ is radially symmetric
so $\rho_{\vw}(\vw)$ is a function of $r:=\norm{\vw}$ only. By using spherical coordinate system, we have
\begin{align*}
1
& = \int_{\sR^d}\rho_{\vw}(\vw)\diff{\vw} \\
& = \int_{\sR^d}\rho_{\vw}(\norm{\vw}\ve_1)\diff{\vw} \\
& = \int_{\sR^+}\int_{\sS^{d-1}}\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)r^{d-1}
\diff{\hat{\vw}}\diff{r} \\
& = \int_{\sR^+}\rho_r(r)\diff{r},
\end{align*}
where $\hat{\vw}\in\sS^{d-1}$ and we define
\begin{equation}
\rho_r(r) := \int_{\sS^{d-1}}\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)r^{d-1}\diff{\hat{\vw}}
= \frac{2\pi^{d/2}}{\Gamma(d/2)}\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)r^{d-1},
\end{equation}
where $\Gamma(\cdot)$ is the gamma function.
Then we introduce the following change of variables,
\begin{equation*}
\begin{cases}
\vzeta = \eta\vw, \\
r = \norm{\vw},
\end{cases}
\end{equation*}
whose the Jacobian determinant is
\begin{equation*}
\det\left(\frac{\partial(\vzeta, r)}{\partial(\vw, \eta)}\right) =
\det\begin{bmatrix}
\eta & 0 & \cdots & 0 & w_1 \\
0 & \eta & \cdots & 0 & w_2 \\
\vdots & \vdots & \ddots & \vdots & \vdots \\
0 & 0 & \cdots & \eta & w_d \\
w_1/r & w_2/r & \cdots & w_d/r & 0
\end{bmatrix}
= -r\eta^{d-1}=-r{\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)}^{d-1}.
\end{equation*}
Thus
\begin{equation}
\left \{
\begin{aligned}
\vw & = \dfrac{r\vzeta}{\norm{\vzeta}} \\
\eta & = \dfrac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r},
\end{aligned}
\right.
\end{equation}
and its Jacobian determinant is
\begin{equation*}
\det\left(\frac{\partial(\vw, \eta)}{\partial(\vzeta, r)}\right)
= -\frac{r^{d-1}}{r\norm{\vzeta}^{d-1}}.
\end{equation*}
So one can obtain,
\begin{align*}
\Exp&_{\vw,b}\left[\langle\hat{K}_{a,b}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle\right]
= \int_{\sR^{d+1}}\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_b}\phi(\eta\vw)\psi(\eta\vw)
\fF[\vg_1](\eta)\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1](\eta)}
\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)\diff{\vw}\diff{\eta} \\
& = \int_{\sR^d\times\sR^+}\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_b}
\phi(\vzeta)\psi(\vzeta)\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)
\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)}
\frac{r^{d-1}}{r\norm{\vzeta}^{d-1}}\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)\diff{\vzeta}\diff{r} \\
& = \int_{\sR^d\times\sR^+}\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}\sigma_b}
\phi(\vzeta)\psi(\vzeta)\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)
\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)}
\frac{1}{r\norm{\vzeta}^{d-1}}\left[\frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\pi^{d/2}}\rho_r(r)\right]
\diff{\vzeta}\diff{r} \\
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\int_{\sR^d}
\phi(\vzeta)\int_{\sR^+}\left[\frac{1}{r\norm{\vzeta}^{d-1}}
\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1]
\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)}\right]\psi(\vzeta)
\rho_r(r)\diff{r}\diff{\vzeta},
\end{align*}
Therefore taking $\psi = \fF[u_{\rho}]$, we have
\begin{align}
\fL_{a,b}[\fF[u_{\rho}]]
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b\norm{\vxi}^{d-1}}\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{1}{r}\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\cdot\overline{\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)}\right]\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi)\nonumber\\
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b\norm{\vxi}^{d-1}}\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{1}{r}\fF[\vg_1]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\cdot\fF[\vg_1]\left(-\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\right]\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi).\label{Lab}
\end{align}
3. Calculate $\hat{K}_{\vw}(\vxi,\vxi')$. Since
\begin{align*}
\hat{K}_{\vw}(\vxi,\vxi')
& = \frac{1}{4\pi^2}\nabla_{\vxi}\left[\delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\fF[g_2]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\E^{2\pi\I b\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}/\norm{\vw}}\right]\cdot\nabla_{\vxi'}\left[\delta_{\vw}(\vxi')\overline{\fF[g_2]\left(
\frac{\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)}\E^{-2\pi\I b\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}/\norm{\vw}}\right],
\end{align*}
we have
\begin{align*}
~~~~&\langle\hat{K}_{\vw}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle\\
& = \frac{1}{4 \pi^2}\int_{\sR^d}\phi(\vxi)\nabla_{\vxi}\left[\delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\fF[g_2]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\E^{2\pi\I b\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}/\norm{\vw}}\right]\diff{\vxi}\nonumber\\
&\quad ~~~\cdot\int_{\sR^d}\psi(\vxi')\nabla_{\vxi'}\left[\delta_{\vw}(\vxi')\overline{\fF[g_2]\left(
\frac{\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)}\E^{-2\pi\I b\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}/\norm{\vw}}\right]\diff{\vxi'} \\
& = \frac{1}{4 \pi^2}\int_{\sR^d}\nabla_{\vxi}\phi(\vxi)\delta_{\vw}(\vxi)\fF[g_2]\left(
\frac{\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)\E^{2\pi\I b\vxi^\T\hat{\vw}/\norm{\vw}}\diff{\vxi}
\nonumber\\
&\quad ~~~\cdot\int_{\sR^d}\nabla_{\vxi'}\psi(\vxi')\delta_{\vw}(\vxi')\overline{\fF[g_2]\left(
\frac{\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}}{\norm{\vw}}\right)}\E^{-2\pi\I b\vxi'^\T\hat{\vw}/\norm{\vw}}\diff{\vxi'} \\
& = \int_{\sR\times\sR}\nabla\phi(\eta\vw)\cdot\nabla\psi(\eta'\vw)\fF[g_2](\eta)
\cdot\overline{\fF[g_2](\eta')}
\E^{2\pi\I b(\eta-\eta')}\diff{\eta}\diff{\eta'}.
\end{align*}
By the same computation as for $\Hat{K}_{a,b}(\vxi,\vxi')$, we can get
\begin{align*}
~~~~&\Exp_{\vw,b}\left[\langle\hat{K}_{\vw}, \phi\otimes\psi\rangle\right]\nonumber\\
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\int_{\sR^d}\nabla\phi(\vzeta)\cdot\int_{\sR^+}\left[\frac{1}{r\norm{\vzeta}^{d-1}}\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)\cdot\overline{\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)}\right]\nabla\psi(\vzeta)\rho_r(r)\diff{r}\diff{\vzeta}\\
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\int_{\sR^d}\nabla\phi(\vzeta)\cdot\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{1}{r\norm{\vzeta}^{d-1}}\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)\cdot\overline{\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)}\right]\nabla\psi(\vzeta)\diff{\vzeta}\\
& = -\frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\int_{\sR^d}\phi(\vzeta)\nabla\cdot\left \{\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{1}{r\norm{\vzeta}^{d-1}}\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)\cdot\overline{\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vzeta}}{r}\right)}\right]\nabla\psi(\vzeta)\right \}\diff{\vzeta}.
\end{align*}
Thus taking $\psi(\vxi) = \fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi)$, we have
\begin{align}
\fL_{\vw}[\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi)] = -\frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\nabla\cdot\left (\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{1}{r\norm{\vxi}^{d-1}}\fF[g_2]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\fF[g_2]\left(-\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\right]\nabla\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi)\right) \label{Lw}.
\end{align}
Finally, one can plug \eqref{Lab} and \eqref{Lw} into \eqref{lfpprocess} and obtain the dynamics \eqref{thmdyna}.
\end{proof}
\subsection{Exact LFP model for common activation functions}
Based on \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm}, we derive the exact LFP dynamics for the cases where the activation function is ReLU and tanh.
\begin{cor}[LFP operator for ReLU activation function]
Suppose that Assumption \ref{assump..InitialDist} holds. If $\sigma_b\gg 1$ and $\sigma=\ReLU$, then the dynamics \eqref{eq..DynamicsInfiniteWidth} has the following expression,
\begin{equation} \label{thmdyna.ReLU}
\langle\partial_t\fF[u], \phi\rangle = -\left\langle \fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]], \phi \right\rangle+O(\sigma_b^{-3}),
\end{equation}
where $\phi\in \fS(\sR^d)$ is a test function and the LFP operator reads as
\begin{equation} \label{eq..lfpoperatorthm.ReLU}
\begin{aligned}
\fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]]
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{r^3}{16\pi^4\norm{\vxi}^{d+3}} + \frac{a^2 r}{4\pi^2\norm{\vxi}^{d+1}}\right]\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi) \\
& \quad -\frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\nabla\cdot\left (\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{a^2 r}{4\pi^2\norm{\vxi}^{d+1}}\right]\nabla\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi) \right).
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
The expectations are taken w.r.t. initial parameter distribution. Here $r = \norm{\vw}$ with the probability density
$\rho_r(r) := \frac{2\pi^{d/2}}{\Gamma(d/2)}\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)r^{d-1}$, $\ve_1=(1,0,\cdots,0)^\T$.
\end{cor}
\begin{proof}
Let
\begin{align}
f_a(\vx)
& :=
\nabla_{a}\left[a\ReLU(\vw\cdot\vx+b)\right]=\ReLU(\vw\cdot\vx+b), \\
g_a(z)
& :=\ReLU(z), \\
f_b(\vx)
& :=
\nabla_{b}\left[a\ReLU(\vw\cdot\vx+b)\right]=aH(\vw\cdot\vx+b), \\
g_b(z)
& :=aH(z),
\end{align}
so $\vg_1(z) = {(g_a(z), g_b(z))}^\T$ and $g_2(z) = g_b(z)$. Then
\begin{align}
\fF[g_a](\xi)
& = -\frac{1}{4\pi^2\xi^{2}}+\frac{\I}{4\pi}\delta'(\xi), \\
\fF[g_b](\xi)
& = a\left[\frac{1}{\I2\pi\xi}+\frac{1}{2}\delta(\xi)\right],
\end{align}
By ignoring all $\delta(\xi)$ and $\delta'(\xi)$ related to only the trivial $\bm{0}$-frequency, we obtain
\begin{align}
\frac{1}{r}\fF[g_a]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\fF[g_a]\left(\frac{-\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)
& = \frac{r^3}{16\pi^4\norm{\vxi}^{4}}, \\
\frac{1}{r}\fF[g_b]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\fF[g_b]\left(\frac{-\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)
& = \frac{a^2 r}{4\pi^2\norm{\vxi}^{2}}.
\end{align}
We then obtain \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.ReLU} by plugging these into \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm}.
\end{proof}
\begin{cor}[LFP operator for tanh activation function]
Suppose that Assumption \ref{assump..InitialDist} holds. If $\sigma_b\gg 1$ and $\sigma=\tanh$, then the dynamics \eqref{eq..DynamicsInfiniteWidth} has the following expression,
\begin{equation} \label{thmdyna.tanh}
\langle\partial_t\fF[u], \phi\rangle = -\left\langle \fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]], \phi \right\rangle+O(\sigma_b^{-3}),
\end{equation}
where $\phi\in \fS(\sR^d)$ is a test function and the LFP operator reads as
\begin{equation} \label{eq..lfpoperatorthm.tanh}
\begin{aligned}
\fL[\fF[u_{\rho}]]
& = \frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b\norm{\vxi}^{d-1}}\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{\pi^2}{r}\csch^2\left(\frac{\pi^2\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right) + \frac{4\pi^4a^2\norm{\vxi}^2}{r^3}\csch^2\left(\frac{\pi^2\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\right]\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi) \\
& \quad -\frac{\Gamma(d/2)}{2\sqrt{2}\pi^{(d+1)/2}\sigma_b}\nabla\cdot\left (\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{4\pi^4a^2}{r^3\norm{\vxi}^{d-3}}\csch^2\left(\frac{\pi^2\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\right]\nabla\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi) \right).
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
The expectations are taken w.r.t. initial parameter distribution. Here $r = \norm{\vw}$ with the probability density
$\rho_r(r) := \frac{2\pi^{d/2}}{\Gamma(d/2)}\rho_{\vw}(r\ve_1)r^{d-1}$, $\ve_1=(1,0,\cdots,0)^\T$.
\end{cor}
\begin{proof}
Let
\begin{align}
f_a(\vx)
& := \nabla_{a}\left[a\tanh(\vw\cdot\vx+b)\right]=\tanh(\vw\cdot\vx+b), \\
g_a(z)
& := \tanh(z), \\
f_b(\vx)
& := \nabla_{b}\left[a\tanh(\vw\cdot\vx+b)\right]=a\sech^2(\vw\cdot\vx+b), \\
g_b(z)
& := a\sech^2(z),
\end{align}
so $\vg_1(z) = {(g_a(z), g_b(z))}^\T$ and $g_2(z) = g_b(z)$. Then
\begin{align}
\fF[g_a](\xi)
& = -\I\pi\csch(\pi^2\xi), \\
\fF[g_b](\xi)
& = 2\pi^2a\xi\csch(\pi^2\xi).
\end{align}
By ignoring all $\delta(\xi)$ and $\delta'(\xi)$ related to only the trivial $\vzero$-frequency, we obtain
\begin{align}
\frac{1}{r}\fF[g_a]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\fF[g_a]\left(\frac{-\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)
& = \frac{\pi^2}{r}\csch^2\left(\frac{\pi^2\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right), \\
\frac{1}{r}\fF[g_b]\left(\frac{\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)\fF[g_b]\left(\frac{-\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right)
& = \frac{4\pi^4a^2\norm{\vxi}^2}{r^3}\csch^2\left(\frac{\pi^2\norm{\vxi}}{r}\right).
\end{align}
We then obtain \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.tanh} by plugging these into \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm}.
\end{proof}
\section{Explicitizing the implicit bias of the F-Principle }\label{sec:Explicitizing-the-implicit}
In the following sections, we analyze a simplified LFP model with ReLU activation function in \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.ReLU} as follows,
\begin{equation} \label{eq..lfpoperatorthm.simpleReLU}
\partial_t\fF[u]=\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{r^3}{16\pi^4\norm{\vxi}^{d+3}} + \frac{a^2 r}{4\pi^2\norm{\vxi}^{d+1}}\right]\fF[u_{\rho}](\vxi).
\end{equation}
We discard the last term in Eq. \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.ReLU} arising from the evolution of $\vw$. The reasons are two folds. First, experiments show that Eq. \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.simpleReLU} is accurately enough to predict the wide two-layer NN output after training. Second, the last term in Eq. \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.ReLU} is too complicated to analyze for now.
In the LFP model, the solution is implicitly regularized by a decaying coefficient for different frequencies of $\fF[u]$ throughout the training. For a quantitative analysis of this solution, we explicitize such an implicit dynamical regularization by a constrained optimization problem as follows.
\subsection{An equivalent optimization problem to the gradient flow dynamics}
First, we present a general theorem that the long-time limit solution of a gradient flow dynamics is equivalent to the solution of a constrained optimization
problem.
Let $H_1$ and $H_2$ be two separable Hilbert spaces and $\fP: H_1\rightarrow H_2$ is a bounded linear operator. Let $\fP^*: H_2\rightarrow H_1$ be the adjoint operator of $\fP$, defined by
\begin{equation}
\langle \fP \phi_1, \phi_2\rangle_{H_2}=\langle \phi_1, \fP^* \phi_2\rangle_{H_1},\quad\text{for all}\quad \phi_1\in H_1, \phi_2\in H_2.
\end{equation}
\begin{lem}\label{lem..spectrum.positive}
Suppose that $H_1$ and $H_2$ are two separable Hilbert spaces and $\fP:H_1\rightarrow H_2$ and $\fP^*:H_2\rightarrow H_1$ is the adjoint of $\fP$. Then all eigenvalues of $\fP^*\fP$ and $\fP\fP^*$ are non-negative. Moreover, they have the same positive spectrum. If in particular, we assume that the operator $\fP\fP^*$ is surjective, then the operator $\fP\fP^*$ is invertible.
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
We consider the eigenvalue problem $\fP^*\fP \phi_1=\lambda \phi_1$. Taking inner product with $\phi_1$, we have $\langle \phi_1,\fP^*\fP \phi_1\rangle_{H_1}=\lambda\norm{\phi_1}^2_{H_1}$. Note that the left hand side is $\norm{\fP \phi_1}^2_{H_2}$ which is non-negative. Thus $\lambda\geq 0$. Similarly, the eigenvalues of $\fP\fP^*$ are also non-negative.
Now if $\fP^*\fP$ has a positive eigenvalue $\lambda>0$, then $\fP^*\fP \phi_1=\lambda \phi_1$ with non-zero vector $\phi_1\in H_1$. It follows that $\fP\fP^*(\fP \phi_1)=\lambda (\fP \phi_1)$. It is sufficient to prove that $\fP \phi_1$ is non-zero. Indeed, if $\fP \phi_1=0$, then $\fP^*\fP \phi_1=0$ and $\lambda=0$ which contradicts with our assumption. Therefore, any positive eigenvalue of $\fP^*\fP$ is an eigenvalue of $\fP\fP^*$. Similarly, any positive eigenvalue of $\fP\fP^*$ is an eigenvalue of $\fP^*\fP$.
Next, suppose that $\fP\fP^*$ is surjective.
We show that $\fP\fP^* \phi_2=0$ has only the trivial solution $\phi_2=0$. In fact, $\fP\fP^* \phi_2=0$ implies that $\norm{\fP^* \phi_2}^2_{H_1}=\langle \phi_2, \fP\fP^* \phi_2\rangle_{H_2}=0$, i.e., $\fP^*\phi_2=0$. Thanks to the surjectivity of $\fP\fP^*$, there exists a vector $\phi_3\in H_2$ such that $\phi_2=\fP\fP^* \phi_3$. Let $\phi_1=\fP^* \phi_3\in H_1$. Hence $\phi_2=\fP \phi_1$ and $\fP^*\fP h_1=0$. Taking inner product with $\phi_1$, we have $\norm{\fP \phi_1}^2_{H_2}=\langle \phi_1, \fP^*\fP \phi_1\rangle_{H_1}=0$, i.e., $\phi_2=\fP \phi_1=0$. Therefore $\fP\fP^*$ is injective. This with the surjectivity assumption of $\fP\fP^*$ leads to that $\fP\fP^*$ is invertible.
\end{proof}
\begin{rmk}
For the finite dimensional case $H_2=\sR^n$, conditions for the operator $\fP$ in Lemma \ref{lem..spectrum.positive} are reduced to that the matrix $\mP$ has rank $n$ (full rank).
\end{rmk}
Given $g\in H_2$, we consider the following two problems.
(i)
The initial value problem
\begin{equation*}
\left\{
\begin{array}{ll}
\dfrac{\D \phi}{\D t}&=\fP^*(g-\fP \phi)\\
\phi(0)&=\phi_{\rm ini}.
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
Since this equation is linear and with nonpositive eigenvalues on the right hand side, there exists a unique global-in-time solution $\phi(t)$ for all $t\in[0,+\infty)$ satisfying the initial condition. Moreover, the long-time limit $\lim_{t\rightarrow+\infty}\phi(t)$ exists and will be denoted as $\phi_\infty$.
(ii)
The minimization problem
\begin{align*}
&\min_{\phi -\phi_{\rm ini}\in H_1}\norm{\phi-\phi_{\rm ini}}_{H_1},\\
&\text{s.t.}\quad \fP \phi=g.
\end{align*}
In the following, we will show it has a unique minimizer which is denoted as $h_{\min}$.
Now we show the following equivalent theorem.
\begin{thm}[Equivalence between gradient descent and optimization problems] \label{thm..EquivalenceDynamicsMinimization}
Suppose that $\fP\fP^*$ is surjective. The above Problems (i) and (ii) are equivalent in the sense that $\phi_\infty=\phi_{\min}$.
More precisely, we have
\begin{equation}
\phi_\infty=h_{\min}=\fP^*(\fP\fP^*)^{-1}(g-\fP \phi_{\rm ini})+\phi_{\rm ini}.
\end{equation}
\end{thm}
\begin{proof}
Let $\tilde{\phi}=\phi-\phi_{\rm ini}$ and $\tilde{g}=g-\fP \phi_{\rm ini}$. Then it is sufficient to show the following problems (i') and (ii') are equivalent.
(i')
The initial value problem
\begin{equation*}
\left\{
\begin{array}{l}
\dfrac{\D \tilde{\phi}}{\D t}
= \fP^*(\tilde{g}-\fP\tilde{\phi})\\
\tilde{\phi}(0)=0.
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
(ii')
The minimization problem
\begin{align*}
&\min_{\tilde{\phi}}\norm{\tilde{\phi}}^2_{H_1},\\
&\text{s.t.}\quad \fP\tilde{\phi}=\tilde{g}.
\end{align*}
We claim that $\tilde{\phi}_{\min}=\fP^*(\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}$. Thanks to Lemma \ref{lem..spectrum.positive}, $\fP\fP^*$ is invertible, and thus $\phi_{\min}$ is well-defined and satisfies that $\fP\tilde{\phi}=\tilde{g}$. It remains to show that this solution is unique. In fact, for any $\tilde{\phi}$ satisfying $\fP\tilde{\phi}=\tilde{g}$, we have
\begin{align*}
\langle\tilde{\phi}-\tilde{\phi}_{\min},\tilde{\phi}_{\min}\rangle_{H_1}
&= \langle\tilde{\phi}-\tilde{\phi}_{\min},\fP^*(\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}\rangle_{H_1}\\
&= \langle \fP(\tilde{\phi}-\tilde{\phi}_{\min}), (\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}\rangle_{H_2}\\
&= \langle \fP\tilde{\phi}, (\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}\rangle_{H_2}-\langle \fP\tilde{\phi}_{\min}, (\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}\rangle_{H_2}\\
&= 0.
\end{align*}
Therefore,
\begin{equation*}
\norm{\tilde{\phi}}^2_{H_1}=\norm{\tilde{\phi}_{\min}}^2_{H_1}+\norm{\tilde{\phi}-\tilde{\phi}_{\min}}^2_{H_1}\geq \norm{\tilde{\phi}_{\min}}^2_{H_1}.
\end{equation*}
The equality holds if and only if $\tilde{\phi}=\tilde{\phi}_{\min}$.
For problem (i'), from the theory of ordinary differential equations on Hilbert spaces, we have that its solution can be written as
\begin{equation*}
\tilde{\phi}(t)=\fP^*(\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}+\sum_{i\in I}c_i v_i\exp(-\lambda_i t),
\end{equation*}
where $\lambda_i$, $i\in \fI$ are positive eigenvalues of $\fP\fP^*$, $\fI$ is an index set with at most countable cardinality, and $v_i$, $i\in \fI$ are eigenvectors in $H_1$.
Thus $\tilde{\phi}_\infty=\tilde{\phi}_{\min}=\fP^*(\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}$.
Finally, by back substitution, we have
\begin{equation*}
\phi_\infty=\phi_{\min}
= \fP^*(\fP\fP^*)^{-1}\tilde{g}+\phi_0
= \fP^*(\fP\fP^*)^{-1}(g-\fP \phi_{\rm ini})+\phi_{\rm ini}.
\end{equation*}
\end{proof}
The following corollaries are obtained directly from Theorem \ref{thm..EquivalenceDynamicsMinimization}.
\begin{cor}\label{cor..EquivalencdTheta}
Let $\phi$ be the parameter vector $\vtheta$ in $H_1=\sR^{m}$, $g$ be the outputs of the training data $\vY$, and $\mP$ be a full rank matrix in the linear DNN model. Then
the following two problems are equivalent in the sense that $\vtheta_\infty=\vtheta_{\min}$.
(A1)
The initial value problem
\begin{equation*}
\left\{
\begin{array}{l}
\dfrac{\D \vtheta}{\D t}=\mP^*(\vY-\mP\vtheta)\\
\vtheta(0)=\vtheta_{\rm ini}.
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
(A2)
The minimization problem
\begin{align*}
&\min_{\vtheta-\vtheta_{\rm ini}\in \sR^{m}}\norm{\vtheta-\vtheta_{\rm ini}}_{2},\\
&\text{s.t.}\quad \mP\vtheta=\vY.
\end{align*}
\end{cor}
The next corollary is a weighted version of Theorem \ref{thm..EquivalenceDynamicsMinimization}.
\begin{cor}\label{cor..EquivalencdHW}
Let $H_1$ and $H_2$ be two separable Hilbert spaces and $\Gamma: H_1\rightarrow H_1$ be an injective operator.
Define the Hilbert space $H_\Gamma:=\mathrm{Im}(\Gamma)$.
Let $g\in H_2$ and $\fP: H_\Gamma\rightarrow H_2$ be an operator such that $\fP\fP^*: H_2\to H_2$ is surjective.
Then $\Gamma^{-1}: H_\Gamma\rightarrow H_1$ exists and $H_\Gamma$ is a Hilbert space with norm $\norm{\phi}_{H_\Gamma}:=\norm{\Gamma^{-1}\phi}_{H_1}$. Moreover, the following two problems are equivalent in the sense that $\phi_\infty=\phi_{\min}$.
(B1)
The initial value problem
\begin{equation*}
\left\{
\begin{array}{l}
\dfrac{\D \phi}{\D t}=\Gamma\Gamma^*\fP^*(g-\fP \phi)\\
\phi(0)=\phi_{\rm ini}.
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
(B2)
The minimization problem
\begin{align*}
&\min_{\phi-\phi_0\in H_\Gamma}\norm{\phi-\phi_{\rm ini}}_{H_\Gamma},\\
&\text{s.t.}\quad \fP \phi=g.
\end{align*}
\end{cor}
\begin{proof}
The operator $\Gamma:H_1\rightarrow H_\Gamma$ is bijective. Hence $\Gamma^{-1}:H_\Gamma\rightarrow H_1$ is well-defined and $H_\Gamma$ with norm $\norm{\cdot}_{H_\Gamma}$ is a Hilbert space.
The equivalence result holds by applying Theorem \ref{thm..EquivalenceDynamicsMinimization} with proper replacements. More precisely, we replace $\phi$ by $\Gamma^{-1} \phi$ and $\fP$ by $\fP\Gamma$.
\end{proof}
\begin{cor}\label{cor..EquivalencdHWFrequency}
Let $\gamma: \sR^{d}\rightarrow\sR^+$ be a positive function, $h$ be a function in $L^2(\sR^{d})$ and $\phi=\fF[h]$. The operator $\Gamma: L^2(\sR^{d})\rightarrow L^2(\sR^{d})$ is defined by $[\Gamma\phi](\vxi)=\gamma(\vxi)\phi(\vxi)$, $\vxi\in\sR^{d}$.
Define the Hilbert space $H_\Gamma:=\mathrm{Im}(\Gamma)$.
Let $\mX=(\vx_1,\ldots,\vx_n)^\T\in \sR^{n\times d}$, $\vY=(y_1,\ldots,y_n)^\T \in \sR^{n}$ and $\fP: H_\Gamma\rightarrow \sR^{n}$ be a surjective operator
\begin{equation}
\fP: \phi\mapsto \left(\int_{\sR^{d}}\phi(\vxi)\E^{2\pi\I \vx_1^\T\vxi}\diff{\vxi},\ldots,\int_{\sR^{d}}\phi(\vxi)\E^{2\pi\I \vx_n^\T\vxi}\diff{\vxi}\right)^\T=(h(\vx_1),\ldots,h(\vx_n))^\T.
\end{equation}
Then the following two problems are equivalent in the sense that $\phi_\infty=\phi_{\min}$.
(C1)
The initial value problem
\begin{equation*}
\left\{
\begin{array}{l}
\displaystyle\dfrac{\D \phi(\vxi)}{\D t}=(\gamma(\vxi))^2\sum_{i=1}^n\left(y_i\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T\vxi}-\left[\phi*\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T(\cdot)}\right](\vxi)\right)\\
\phi(0)=\phi_{\rm ini}.
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
(C2)
The minimization problem
\begin{align*}
&\min_{\phi-\phi_{\rm ini}\in H_\Gamma}\int_{\sR^{d}}(\gamma(\vxi))^{-2}\abs{\phi(\vxi)-\phi_{\rm ini}(\vxi)}^2\diff{\vxi},\\
&\text{s.t.}\quad h(\vx_i)=y_i,\quad i=1,\cdots,n.
\end{align*}
\end{cor}
\begin{proof}
Let $H_1=L^2(\sR^{d})$, $H_2=\sR^{n}$, $g=\vY$. By definition, $\Gamma$ is injective. Then by Corollary \ref{cor..EquivalencdHW}, we have that $\Gamma^{-1}: H_\Gamma\rightarrow L^2(\sR^{d})$ exists and $H_{\Gamma}$ is a Hilbert space with norm $\norm{\phi}_{H_\Gamma}:=\norm{\Gamma^{-1}\phi}_{L^2(\sR^{d})}$. Moreover, $\norm{\phi-\phi_{\rm ini}}_{H_\Gamma}^2=\int_{\sR^{d}}(\gamma(\vxi))^{-2}\abs{\phi(\vxi)-\phi_{\rm ini}(\vxi)}^2\diff{\vxi}$. We note that $[\fP^*Y](\vxi)=\sum_{i=1}^{n} y_i\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T\vxi}$ for all $\vxi\in\sR^{d}$. Thus
\begin{align*}
[\fP^*\fP\phi](\vxi)
&= \left[\fP^*\left(\int_{\sR^{d}}\phi(\vxi')\E^{2\pi\I \vx_i^\T \vxi'}\diff{\vxi'}\right)_{i=1}^n\right](\vxi)\\
&= \sum_{i=1}^n \int_{\sR^{d}}\phi(\vxi')\E^{2\pi\I \vx_i^\T\vxi'}\diff{\vxi'}\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T \vxi}\\
&= \sum_{i=1}^n \int_{\sR^{d}}\phi(\vxi')\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T (\vxi-\vxi')}\diff{\vxi'}\\
&= \sum_{i=1}^n \left[\phi*\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T(\cdot)}\right](\vxi).
\end{align*}
The equivalence result then follows from Corollary \ref{cor..EquivalencdHW}.
\end{proof}
We remark that $\fP^*\fP\phi=\sum_{i=1}^n\fF[h\delta_{\vx_i}]$, where $\delta_{\vx_i}(\cdot)=\delta(\cdot-\vx_i)$, $i=1,\cdots,n$. Therefore problem (C1) can also be written as:
\begin{equation*}
\left\{
\begin{array}{l}
\displaystyle\dfrac{\D \fF[h]}{\D t}=\gamma^2\sum_{i=1}^n(y_i\fF[\delta_{\vx_i}]-\fF[h\delta_{\vx_i}]
)\\
\fF[h](\vzero)=\fF[h]_{\rm ini}.
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
In the following, we study the discretized version of this dynamics-optimization problem (C1\&C2).
\begin{cor}\label{cor..EquivalencdHWFrequencyDiscrete}
Let $\gamma: \sZ^{d}\rightarrow\sR^+$ be a positive function defined on lattice $\sZ^{d}$ and $\phi=\fF[h]$. The operator $\Gamma: \ell^2(\sZ^{d})\rightarrow \ell^2(\sZ^{d})$ is defined by $[\Gamma\phi](\vk)=\gamma(\vk)\phi(\vk)$, $\vk\in\sZ^{d}$. Here $\ell^2(\sZ^{d})$ is set of square summable functions on the lattice $\sZ^{d}$.
Define the Hilbert space $H_\Gamma:=\mathrm{Im}(\Gamma)$.
Let $X=(\vx_1,\ldots,\vx_n)^\T\in \sT^{n\times d}$, $Y=(y_1,\ldots,y_n)^\T \in \sR^{n}$ and $\fP: H_\Gamma\rightarrow \sR^{n}$ be a surjective operator such as
\begin{equation}
P: \phi\mapsto \left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}\phi(\vk)\E^{2\pi\I \vx_1^\T\vk},\ldots,\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}\phi(\vk)\E^{2\pi\I \vx_n^\T\vk}\right)^\T.
\end{equation}
Then the following two problems are equivalent in the sense that $\phi_\infty=\phi_{\min}$.
(D1)
The initial value problem
\begin{equation*}
\left\{
\begin{array}{ll}
\displaystyle\dfrac{\D \phi(\vk)}{\D t}=(\gamma(\vk))^2\sum_{i=1}^n\left(y_i\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T \vk}-\left[\phi*\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T(\cdot)}\right](\vk)\right)\\
\phi(\vzero)=\phi_{\rm ini}.
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
(D2)
The minimization problem
\begin{align*}
&\min_{\phi-\phi_{\rm ini}\in H_\Gamma}\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}\abs{\phi(\vk)-\phi_{\rm ini}(\vk)}^2,\\
&\text{s.t.}\quad h(\vx_i)=y_i,\quad i=1,\cdots,n.
\end{align*}
\end{cor}
\begin{proof}
Let $H_1=\ell^2(\sZ^{d})$, $H_2=\sR^{n}$, and $g=\vY$. By definition, $\Gamma$ is injective. Then by Corollary \ref{cor..EquivalencdHW}, we have that $\Gamma^{-1}: H_\Gamma\rightarrow \ell^2(\sZ^{d})$ exists and $H_\Gamma$ is a Hilbert space with norm $\norm{\phi}_{H_\Gamma}:=\norm{\Gamma^{-1}\phi}_{\ell^2(\sZ^{d})}$. Moreover, $\norm{\phi-\phi_{\rm ini}}_{H_\Gamma}^2=\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}\abs{\phi(\vk)-\phi_{\rm ini}(\vk)}^2$.
We note that $[P^*\vY](\vk)=\sum_{i=1}^{n} y_i\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T\vk}$ for all $\vk\in\sZ^{d}$. Thus
\begin{align*}
[P^*P\phi](\vk)
&= \left[P^*\left(\sum_{\vk'\in\sZ^{d}}\phi(\vk')\E^{2\pi\I \vx_i^\T\vk'}\right)_{i=1}^n\right](\vk)\\
&= \sum_{i=1}^n \sum_{\vk'\in\sZ^{d}}\phi(\vk')\E^{2\pi\I \vx_i^\T\vk'}\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T\vk}\\
&= \sum_{i=1}^n \sum_{\vk'\in\sZ^{d}}\phi(\vk')\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^
\T(\vk-\vk')}\\
&= \sum_{i=1}^n \left[\phi*\E^{-2\pi\I \vx_i^\T(\cdot)}\right](\vk).
\end{align*}
The equivalence result then follows from Corollary \ref{cor..EquivalencdHW}.
\end{proof}
\subsection{Example: Explicitizing the implicit bias for two-layer ReLU NNs \label{subsec:Explicit-regularization-of}}
As an example, by Corollary \ref{cor..EquivalencdHWFrequency}, we derive
the following constrained optimization problem explicitly minimizing
an FP-norm (see next section), whose solution is the same as the long-time limit solution of the simplified LFP model \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.simpleReLU},
that is,
\begin{equation}
\min_{h-h_{\mathrm{ini}}\in F_{\gamma}}\int_{\sR^d}\left(\Exp_{a,r}\left[\frac{r^3}{16\pi^4\norm{\vxi}^{d+3}} + \frac{a^2 r}{4\pi^2\norm{\vxi}^{d+1}}\right]\right)^{-1}\abs{\fF[h](\vxi)-\fF[h_{{\rm ini}}](\vxi)}^{2}\diff{\vxi},\label{eq: minFPnorm}
\end{equation}
subject to constraints
$h(\vx_{i})=y_{i}$ for $i=1,\cdots,n$. The $F_{\gamma}$ is defined in the next section.
This explicit penalty
indicates that the learning of DNN is biased towards functions with
more power at low frequencies,
which is speculated in previous works \citep{xu_training_2018,rahaman2018spectral,xu2019frequency}. For 1-d problems ($d=1$), when $1/\xi^2$ term dominates, the corresponding minimization problem indicates a linear spline interpolation. Similarly, when $1/\xi^4$ dominates, the minimization problem indicates a cubic spline. In general, both two power law decays together lead to a specific mixture of linear and cubic splines. For high dimensional problems, the minimization problem is difficult to be interpreted by a specific interpolation because the order of differentiation depends on $d$ and can be fractal.
\section{FP-norm and an \textit{a priori} generalization error bound \label{FPapriori}}
The equivalent explicit optimization problem \eqref{eq: minFPnorm}
provides a way to analyze the generalization of sufficiently wide two-layer NNs. We consider the Fourier domain with discretized frequencies. Then, we begin with the definition of
an FP-norm, which naturally induces a FP-space containing all possible solutions of a target NN, whose
Rademacher complexity can be controlled by the FP-norm of the
target function. Thus we obtain an \textit{a priori} estimate of the generalization error of NN by the theory of Rademacher complexity. Our \textit{a priori}
estimates follows the Monte Carlo
error rates with respect to the sample size. Importantly, Our estimate unravels how frequency components of the target function affect the generalization performance of DNNs.
\subsection{Problem Setup}
We focus on regression problem. Assume the target function $f:\Omega:=[0,1]^{d}\to\sR$.
Let the training set be $S=\{(\vx_{i}, y_{i})\}_{i=1}^{n}$,
where $\vx_{i}$'s are independently sampled from an underlying
distribution $\fD(\vx)$ and $y_{i}=f(\vx_{i})$. We consider
the square loss
\begin{equation}
\ell(h,\vx,y)=\abs{h(\vx)-y}^{2},
\end{equation}
with population risk
\begin{equation}
\RD(h)=\Exp_{\vx\sim\fD}\ell(h,\vx,f(\vx))
\end{equation}
and empirical risk
\begin{equation}
\RS(h)=\frac{1}{n}\sum_{i=1}^{n}\ell(h,\vx_{i},y_i).
\end{equation}
\subsection{FP-space}
The quantity in the minimization problem motives a definition of FP-norm, which would lead to the definition of the function space where the solution of the minimization problem lies in.
We denote $\sZ^{d*}:=\sZ^d\backslash\{\vzero\}$.
Given a frequency weight function $\gamma: \sZ^{d}\to \sR^+$ or $\gamma: \sZ^{d*}\to \sR^+$ satisfying
\begin{equation}
\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}=\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}<+\infty\quad\text{or}\quad \norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}=\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}<+\infty,
\end{equation}
we define the FP-norm for all function $h\in L^2(\Omega)$:
\begin{equation}
\norm{h}_{\gamma}:=\norm{\fF[h]}_{H_\Gamma}=\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}\abs{\fF[h](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}.
\end{equation}
If $\gamma:\sZ^{d*}\to\sR^+$ is not defined at $\vxi=\vzero$, we set $(\gamma(\vzero))^{-1}:=0$ in the above definition and $\norm{\cdot}_\gamma$ is only a semi-norm of $h$.
Then we define the FP-space
\begin{equation}
\fF_{\gamma}(\Omega)=\{h\in L^2(\Omega):\norm{h}_{\gamma}<\infty\}.
\end{equation}
Clearly, for any $\gamma$, the FP-space is a subspace of $L^2(\Omega)$. In addition, if $\gamma: \vk\mapsto \norm{\vk}^{-r}$ for $\vk\in\sZ^{d*}$, then functions in the FP-space with $\fF[h](\vzero)=\int_{\Omega} h(\vx) \diff{\vx}=0$ form the Sobolev space $H^{r}(\Omega)$. Note that in the case of DNN, according to the F-Principle, $(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}$
increases with the frequency. Thus, the contribution of high frequency
to the FP-norm is more significant than that of low frequency.
\subsection{\textit{a priori} generalization error bound }
Next, we would show the upper bound of the FP-norm of a function leads to a upper bound of the Rademacher complexity of the function space. The Rademacher complexity is defined as
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH)=\frac{1}{n}\Exp_{\vtau}\left[\sup_{h\in\fH}\sum_{i=1}^{n}\tau_{i}h(\vx_{i})\right].
\end{equation}
for the function space $\fH$ and data-set $S=\{\vx_i,h(\vx_{i})\}_{i=1}^n$.
\begin{lem}\label{Rad bound}
(i) For $\fH_Q=\{h:\norm{h}_{\gamma}\leq Q\}$ with $\gamma: \sZ^{d}\to \sR^+$, we have
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q)\leq\frac{1}{\sqrt{n}}Q\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
(ii) For $\fH_Q'=\{h:\norm{h}_{\gamma}\leq Q, \abs{\fF[h](\vzero)}\leq c_{0}\}$ with $\gamma: \sZ^{d*}\to \sR^+$ and $\gamma^{-1}(\vzero):=0$, we have
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q')\leq \frac{c_{0}}{\sqrt{n}}+\frac{1}{\sqrt{n}}Q\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
We first prove (ii) since it is more involved.
By the definition of the Rademacher complexity
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q')=\frac{1}{n}\Exp_{\vtau}\left[\sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\sum_{i=1}^{n}\tau_{i}h(\vx_{i})\right].
\end{equation}
Let $\tau(\vx)=\sum_{i=1}^{n}\tau_{i}\delta(\vx-\vx_{i})$,
where $\tau_{i}$'s are i.i.d. random variables with $\Prob(\tau_i=1)=\Prob(\tau_i=-1)=\frac{1}{2}$. We have $\fF[\tau](\vk)=\int_{\Omega}\sum_{i=1}^n\tau_i\delta(\vx-\vx_i)\E^{-2\pi\I \vk^\T \vx}\diff{\vx}=\sum_{i=1}^n\tau_i\E^{-2\pi\I \vk^\T\vx_i}$. Note that
\begin{align}
\sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\sum_{i=1}^{n}\tau_{i}h(\vx_{i})
= \sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\sum_{i=1}^{n}\tau_{i}\bar{h}(\vx_{i})
&= \sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\sum_{i=1}^{n}\tau_{i}\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^d}\overline{\fF[h](\vk)}\E^{-2\pi\I \vk^\T\vx_i}\\
&= \sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^d}\fF[\tau](\vk)\overline{\fF[h](\vk)}.
\end{align}
By the Cauchy--Schwarz inequality,
\begin{align}
&~~\sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}\fF[\tau](\vk)\overline{\fF[h](\vk)}\nonumber\\
& \leq \sup_{h\in\fH_Q}\left[\fF[\tau](\vzero)\overline{\fF[h](\vzero)}+\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\abs{\fF[\tau](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{1/2}\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}\abs{\overline{\fF[h](\vk)}}^{2}\right)^{1/2}\right]\\
& \leq c_{0}\abs{\fF[\tau](\vzero)}+Q\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\abs{\fF[\tau](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{1/2}.
\end{align}
Since $\Exp_{\vtau}\abs{\fF[\tau](\vzero)}\leq (\Exp_{\vtau}\abs{\fF[\tau](\vzero)}^2)^{1/2}=\sqrt{n}$, $\Exp_{\vtau}\abs{\fF[\tau](\vk)}^{2}=\Exp_{\vtau}\sum_{i,j=1}^{n}\tau_{i}\tau_{j}\E^{-2\pi\I \vk^\T (\vx_{i}-\vx_{j})}=n$, we obtain
\begin{align}
\Exp_{\vtau}\left[\sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\sum_{i=1}^{n}\tau_{i}h(\vx_{i})\right]
&\leq c_{0}\sqrt{n}+Q \Exp_{\vtau}\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\abs{\fF[\tau](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{1/2}\\
&\leq c_{0}\sqrt{n}+Q \left(\Exp_{\vtau}\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\abs{\fF[\tau](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{1/2}\\
&= c_{0}\sqrt{n}+Q\sqrt{n}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{align}
This leads to
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q')\leq\frac{c_{0}}{\sqrt{n}}+\frac{1}{\sqrt{n}}Q\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
For (ii), the proof is similar to (i). We have
\begin{equation}
\Exp_{\vtau}\left[\sup_{h\in\fH_Q}\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}\fF[\tau](\vk)\overline{\fF[h](\vk)}\right]
\leq Q\Exp_{\vtau}\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}(\gamma(\vk))^2|\fF[\tau](\vk)|^{2}\right)^{1/2}
\leq Q\sqrt{n}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
Therefore
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q)\leq \frac{1}{\sqrt{n}}Q\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
\end{proof}
Then, we prove that the target function can be used to bound the FP-norm of the solution of the minimization problem.
\begin{lem}\label{FPnorm Bound}
Suppose that the real-valued target function $f\in \fF_\gamma(\Omega)$ and that the training dataset $\{(\vx_{i}, y_i)\}_{i=1}^{n}$ satisfies $y_i=f(\vx_{i})$, $i=1,\cdots,n$. If $\gamma: \sZ^{d}\to \sR^+$, then there exists a unique solution $h_{n}$ to the regularized model
\begin{equation}
\min_{h-h_{\rm ini}\in
\fF_\gamma(\Omega)} \norm{h-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma},\quad\text{s.t.}\quad h(\vx_i)=y_i,\quad i=1,\cdots,n.\label{eq..FPnormBoundMinimizationProblem}
\end{equation}
Moreover, we have
\begin{equation}
\norm{h_{n}-h_{{\rm ini}}}_\gamma\leq \norm{f-h_{{\rm ini}}}_\gamma.
\end{equation}
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
By the definition of the FP-norm, we have $\norm{h_n-h_{\rm ini}}_\gamma=\norm{\fF[h]_n-\fF[h]_{\rm ini}}_{H_\Gamma}$. According to Corollary \ref{cor..EquivalencdHWFrequencyDiscrete}, the minimizer of problem \eqref{eq..FPnormBoundMinimizationProblem} exists, i.e., $h_n$ exists. Since the target function $f(x)$ satisfies the constraints $f(x_i)=y_i$, $i=1,\cdots,n$, we have $\norm{h_{n}-h_{{\rm ini}}}_\gamma\leq \norm{f-h_{{\rm ini}}}_\gamma$.
\end{proof}
\begin{lem}\label{0freqconstraint}
Suppose that the real-valued target function $f\in \fF_\gamma(\Omega)$ and the training dataset $\{(\vx_{i}, y_i)\}_{i=1}^{n}$ satisfies $y_i=f(\vx_{i})$, $i=1,\cdots,n$. If $\gamma: \sZ^{d*}\to \sR^+$ with $\gamma^{-1}(\vzero):=0$, then there exists a solution $h_{n}$ to the regularized model
\begin{equation}
\min_{h-h_{\rm ini}\in \fF_
\gamma(\Omega)} \norm{h-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma},\quad\text{s.t.}\quad h(\vx_i)=y_i,\quad i=1,\cdots,n.
\end{equation}
Moreover, we have
\begin{equation}
\Abs{\fF[h_{n}-h_{\rm ini}](\vzero)}
\leq \norm{f-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\infty}+\norm{f-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
\end{lem}
\begin{proof}
Let $f'=f-h_{\rm ini}$.
Since $h_{n}(\vx_{i})-f(\vx_{i})=0$
for $i=1,\cdots,n$, we have $h_{n}(\vx_{i})-f'(\vx_{i})-h_{{\rm ini}}(\vx_{i})=0$.
Therefore
\begin{align}
\Abs{\fF[h_{n}-h_{\rm ini}](\vzero)}
&= \Abs{f'(\vx_{i})-\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}\fF[h_{n}-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)\E^{2\pi\I\vk^\T\vx_{i}}}\\
&\leq \norm{f'}_{\infty}+\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}\Abs{\fF[h_{n}-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)}\\
&\leq \norm{f'}_{\infty}+\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}\Abs{\fF[h_{n}-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}\\
&\leq \norm{f'}_{\infty}+\norm{h_n-h_{\rm ini}}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}\\
&\leq \norm{f'}_{\infty}+\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{align}
We remark that the last step is due to the same reason as Lemma \ref{FPnorm Bound}.
\end{proof}
Based on above analysis, we derive an \textit{a priori} generalization error bound of the minimization problem.
\begin{thm}[\textit{a priori} generalization error bound]\label{thm:priorierror}
Suppose that the real-valued target function $f\in \fF_\gamma(\Omega)$, the training dataset $\{(\vx_{i}, y_i)\}_{i=1}^{n}$ satisfies $y_i=f(\vx_{i})$, $i=1,\cdots,n$, and $h_{n}$ is the solution of the regularized model
\begin{equation}
\min_{h-h_{\rm ini}\in \fF_
\gamma(\Omega)} \norm{h-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma},\quad\text{s.t.}\quad h(\vx_i)=y_i,\quad i=1,\cdots,n.\label{eq:optf}
\end{equation}
Then we have
(i) given $\gamma: \sZ^{d}\to \sR^+$,
for any $\delta\in(0,1)$, with probability at least $1-\delta$ over
the random training sample, the population risk has the bound
\begin{equation}
\RD(h_{n})
\leq \norm{f-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}
\left(\frac{2}{\sqrt{n}}+4\sqrt{\frac{2\log(4/\delta)}{n}}\right).
\end{equation}
(ii) given $\gamma: \sZ^{d*}\to \sR^+$ with $\gamma(\vzero)^{-1}:=0$, for any $\delta\in(0,1)$,
with probability at least $1-\delta$ over the random training sample,
the population risk has the bound
\begin{equation}
\RD(h_{n})
\leq \left(\norm{f-h_{\rm ini}}_{\infty}+2\norm{f-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}
\right)
\left(\frac{2}{\sqrt{n}}+4\sqrt{\frac{2\log(4/\delta)}{n}}\right).
\end{equation}
\end{thm}
\begin{proof}
Let $f'=f-h_{{\rm ini}}$ and $Q=\norm{f'}_{\gamma}$.
(i) Given $\gamma:\sZ^d\to\sR^+$, we set $\fH_Q=\{h: \norm{h-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma}\leq Q\}$.
According to Lemma \ref{FPnorm Bound}, the solution of problem \eqref{eq:optf} $h_{n}\in\fH_Q$. By the
relation between generalization gap and Rademacher complexity \citep{bartlett2002rademacher,shalev2014understanding},
\begin{equation}
\abs{\RD(h_{n})-L_S(h_{n})}\leq 2{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q)+2\sup_{h,h'\in\fH_Q}\norm{h-h'}_{\infty}\sqrt{\frac{2\log(4/\delta)}{n}}.
\end{equation}
One of the component can be bounded as follows\textcolor{blue}{{} }
\begin{align}
\sup_{h,h'\in\fH_Q}\norm{h-h'}_{\infty}
& \leq \sup_{h\in\fH_Q}2\norm{h-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\infty}\\
& \leq \sup_{h\in\fH_Q}2\max_{\vx}\Abs{\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}\fF[h-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)\E^{2\pi\I \vk^\T\vx}}\\
& \leq \sup_{h\in\fH_Q}2\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}\Abs{\fF[h-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)}\\
& \leq 2\sup_{h\in\fH_Q}\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}\Abs{\fF[h-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}\\
& \leq 2Q\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{align}
By Lemma \ref{Rad bound},
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q)\leq \frac{1}{\sqrt{n}}Q\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
By optimization problem \eqref{eq:optf}, $L_S(h_{n})\leq L_S(f')=0$.
Therefore we obtain
\begin{equation}
\RD(h)\leq \frac{2}{\sqrt{n}}\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}+4\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}\sqrt{\frac{2\log(4/\delta)}{n}}.
\end{equation}
(ii) Given $\gamma: \sZ^{d*}\to \sR^+$ with $\gamma(\vzero)^{-1}:=0$, set $c_0=\norm{f'}_{\infty}+\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}$. By Lemma \ref{Rad bound},
\ref{FPnorm Bound}, and \ref{0freqconstraint}, define $\fH_Q'=\{h:\norm{h-h_{{\rm ini}}}_{\gamma}\leq Q,\abs{\fF[h-h_{\rm ini}](\vzero)}\leq c_0\}$,
we obtain
\begin{equation}
{\rm Rad}_{S}(\fH_Q')
\leq \frac{1}{\sqrt{n}}\norm{f'}_{\infty}+\frac{2}{\sqrt{n}}\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{equation}
Also
\begin{align}
\sup_{h,h'\in\fH_Q'}\norm{h-h'}_{\infty}
& \leq \sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}2\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d}}\Abs{\fF[h-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)}\\
& \leq 2\sup_{h\in\fH_Q'}\left[\Abs{\fF[h-h_{\rm ini}](\vzero)}+\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^2\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}\left(\sum_{\vk\in\sZ^{d*}}(\gamma(\vk))^{-2}\Abs{\fF[h-h_{\rm ini}](\vk)}^{2}\right)^{\frac{1}{2}}\right]\\
& \leq 2\norm{f'}_{\infty}+4\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}.
\end{align}
Then
\begin{equation}
\RD(h_{n})\leq \frac{2}{\sqrt{n}}\norm{f'}_{\infty}+\frac{4}{\sqrt{n}}\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}+\left(4\norm{f'}_{\infty}+8\norm{f'}_{\gamma}\norm{\gamma}_{\ell^2}\right)\sqrt{\frac{2\log(4/\delta)}{n}}.
\end{equation}
\end{proof}
\begin{rmk}
By the assumption in the theorem, the target function $f$ belongs to $\fF_\gamma(\Omega)$ which is a subspace of $L^2(\Omega)$. In most applications, $f$ is also a continuous function. In any case, $f$ can be well-approximated by a large neural network due to universal approximation theory \citep{cybenko1989approximation}.
\end{rmk}
Our a priori generalization error bound in Theorem \ref{thm:priorierror}
is large if the target function possesses significant high frequency
components. Thus, it explains the failure of DNNs in generalization for learning the
parity function \citep{shalev2017failures}, whose power concentrates at high
frequencies. In the following, We use experiments to illustrate that, as predicted by our a priori generalization error bound, larger FP-norm of the target function indicates a larger generalization error.
\section{Numerical experiments}\label{sec:exps}
In this section, we conduct numerical experiments to validate the effectiveness of LFP model for two-layer ReLU and Tanh networks. In addition, we would show that, with sufficient samples, the test error still increases as the frequency of the target function increases. The procedure to numerically solve the LFP model can be found in Appendix \ref{sec:numsolveopt}\footnote{The code can be found at \url{https://github.com/xuzhiqin1990/LFP}}.
\subsection{The effectiveness of LFP model}
Without the last term in Eq. \eqref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.ReLU} arising from the evolution of $\vw$, we would show that the simplified LFP model in \ref{eq..lfpoperatorthm.simpleReLU} can still predict the learning results of two-layer wide NNs.
For 1d input example of ReLU NN, when the term of $1/\vxi^4$ dominates, as shown in Fig. \ref{fig:1drelu}(a), the NN interpolates training data by a smooth function (denoted by $f_{NN}$, red solid), which nearly overlaps with the prediction of LFP model (denoted by $f_{LFP}$ and the cubic spline interpolation (grey dashed). On the contrary, when the term of $1/\vxi^2$ dominates, as shown in Fig. \ref{fig:1drelu}(b), the NN interpolates training data by a function, which nearly overlaps with the prediction of LFP model and the linear spline interpolation. These result are consistent with above analysis.
For 2d input example of ReLU NN, we consider the XOR problem, which cannot be solved by one-layer neural networks \citep{minsky2017perceptrons}. The training samples consist of four
points represented by black stars in Fig. \ref{fig:2drelu}(a). As
shown in Fig. \ref{fig:2drelu}(b), our LFP model predicts accurately outputs of the well-trained NN over the input domain $[-1,1]^{2}$.
For two-layer Tanh NN, the weight coefficient decays exponentially w.r.t. the frequency no matter which part dominates, thus, the NN always learns the training data by a smooth function, as shown in Fig. \ref{fig:1dtanh}.
\begin{center}
\begin{figure}
\begin{centering}
\subfloat[]{\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{pic/relu/1d/200627212537/snrmdiff_10000.pdf}}
\subfloat[]{\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{pic/relu/1d/200627145208/snrmdiff_10000.pdf}}
\par\end{centering}
\caption{$f_{\rm NN}$ (red solid) vs. $f_{\rm LFP}$ (blue dashed dot) vs. splines (grey dashed, cubic spline for (a) and linear spline for (b)) for a $1$-d problem. All curves nearly overlap with one other. Two-layer ReLU NN of $10000$ hidden neurons is initialized with (a) $\left\langle r^{2}\right\rangle _{r}\gg \left\langle a^{2}\right\rangle _{a}$, and (b) $\left\langle r^{2}\right\rangle _{r}\ll \left\langle a^{2}\right\rangle _{a}$. Black stars indicates training data. \label{fig:1drelu} }
\end{figure}
\par\end{center}
\begin{center}
\begin{figure}
\begin{centering}
\subfloat[]{\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{pic/relu/2d/200627153126_isuni_0/DNNoutput8000.pdf}}
\subfloat[]{\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{pic/relu/2d/200627153126_isuni_0/compare0.pdf}}
\par\end{centering}
\caption{$2$-d XOR problem with four training data indicated by black stars learned by a two-layer ReLU NN of $80000$ hidden neurons. (a) $f_{\rm NN}$ illustrated in color scale. (b) $f_{\rm LFP}$ (ordinate) vs. $f_{\rm NN}$ (abscissa) represented by red dots evaluated over whole input domain $[-1,1]^2$. The black line indicates the identity function. \label{fig:2drelu} }
\end{figure}
\par\end{center}
\begin{center}
\begin{figure}
\begin{centering}
\subfloat[]{\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{pic/tanh/200627203405/snrmdiff_10000.pdf}}
\subfloat[]{\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{pic/tanh/200627180738/snrmdiff_10000.pdf}}
\par\end{centering}
\caption{$f_{\rm NN}$ (red solid) vs. $f_{\rm LFP}$ (blue dashed dot) for a $1$-d problem. Two-layer tanh NN of $10000$ hidden neurons is initialized with (a) $\left\langle r^{2}\right\rangle _{r}\gg \left\langle a^{2}\right\rangle _{a}$, and (b) $\left\langle r^{2}\right\rangle _{r}\ll \left\langle a^{2}\right\rangle _{a}$. Black stars indicates training data. \label{fig:1dtanh} }
\end{figure}
\par\end{center}
\subsection{Generalization error}
In this section, we train a ReLU-NN of width 1-5000-1 to fit 20
uniform samples of $f(x)=\sin(2\pi vx)$ on $[0,1]$ until the training
MSE loss is smaller than $10^{-6}$, where $v$ is the frequency. The number of training sample is sufficient to recover the frequency of the target function by the Nyquist sampling theorem. We then use 500 uniform samples
to test the NN. As the frequency of the target function increases, the FP-norm would increase, thus, leading to a looser bound of the generalization error. As shown in Fig. \ref{fig:fpnorm}, the test error increases as the frequency of the target function increases.
\begin{center}
\begin{figure}
\begin{centering}
\includegraphics[scale=0.6]{pic/radcomplex/147576_w1_ceFalse/testloss.pdf}
\par\end{centering}
\caption{Test loss are plotted as a function of frequency $v$ of the target function $\sin(2\pi vx)$.\label{fig:fpnorm} }
\end{figure}
\par\end{center}
\section{Discussion}\label{sec:discussion}
In this work, inspired by the F-Principle, we derive an
LFP model for two layer wide NNs --- a model quantitatively well predicts the output
of two-layer ReLU and tanh NNs in an extremely over-parameterized regime. We explicitize
the implicit bias of the F-Principle by a constrained optimization
problem equivalent to the LFP model. This explicitization leads to
an \textit{a priori} estimate of the generalization error bound, which
depends on the FP-norm of the target function. Note
that, our LFP model for other transfer functions can also be derived similarly.
The LFP model advances
our qualitative/empirical understandings of the F-Principle to a quantitative
level. i) With ASI trick \citep{zhang_type_2019} offsetting the initial
DNN output to zero, the LFP model indicates that the F-Principle also
holds for DNNs initialized with large weights. Therefore, ``initialized
with small parameters'' \citep{xu_training_2018,xu2019frequency}
is not a necessary condition for the F-Principle. ii) Based on the training behavior of F-Principle, previous works \citep{xu_training_2018,xu2019frequency,rahaman2018spectral}
speculate that ``DNNs prefer to learn the training data by a low
frequency function''. With an equivalent optimization problem explicitizing
the F-Principle, this speculation is demonstrated theoretically by the LFP model.
Our \textit{a priori} generalization error bound increases as the FP-norm
of the target function increases. This explains several important
phenomena. First, DNNs fail to generalize well for the parity function
\citep{shalev2017failures}. \citet{xu2019frequency} shows that this
is due to the inconsistency between the high frequency dominant property
of the parity function and the low frequency preference of DNNs. In
this work, by our \textit{a priori} generalization error bound, the dominant
high frequency of the parity function quantitatively results in a
large FP-norm, thus, a large generalization error. Second, because
randomly labeled data possesses large high frequency components, which
induces a large FP-norm of any function well matches the training
data and test data, we expect a very large generalization error, e.g., no generalization,
as observed in experiments. Intuitively, our estimate indicates
good generalization of NNs for well-structured low-frequency
dominant real dataset as well as bad generalization of NNs for randomly labeled data, thus providing
insight into the well known puzzle of generalization of DNNs \citep{zhang2016understanding}.
The F-Principle, a widely observed implicit bias of DNNs, is also
a natural bias for human. Empirically, when a human see several
points of training data, without a specific prior, one tends to interpolate
these points by a low frequency dominant function. Therefore, the success of
DNN may partly result from its adoption of a similar interpolation
bias as human's. In general, there could be multiple types of implicit biases underlying the training dynamics of a DNN. Inspired
by the LFP model, discovering and explicitizing these implicit biases
could be a key step towards a thorough quantitative understanding
of deep learning.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 510 |
Prabakaran a/l Kanadasan (born 30 May 1991) is a Malaysian professional footballer who plays as a left-back for Petaling Jaya City.
Honours
Felda United
Malaysia Premier League: 2018
References
External links
1991 births
Living people
People from Selangor
Malaysian footballers
Malaysia international footballers
Malaysian people of Tamil descent
Malaysian sportspeople of Indian descent
Malaysia Super League players
Association football defenders
Sime Darby F.C. players
Perlis FA players
Felda United F.C. players
Selangor FA players
Petaling Jaya City FC players | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 8,942 |
Will Lean Abuse Cause the Demise Of Lil Wayne?
Posted by Darrin | Oct 23, 2017 | Editorial, News | 0 |
Dwayne Michael Carter, Jr. also known as Lil Wayne was always known as a young phenom. Like other young stars, it appears that drug abuse, in his case an obvious lean abuse problem, may be the cause of his demise?
A battle with a serious drug addiction couldn't come at more of an inopportune time. His lean abuse addiction is coming to a head, right when the rapper decided to finally kick off a legal battle with Birdman, one of the founders of Cash Money Records. As of late, Lil Wayne has formally called for the dissolution of Young Money Records.
After a hospitalization for seizure in September, Lil Weezy was quoted as saying, "This isn't my first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh seizure. I've had a bunch of seizures, y'all just never hear about them,". The question that I ask, however, is if the seizures are merely a symptom of a more severe underlying lean abuse problem.
How does Lean Abuse Affect the User?
Lean or Sizzurp is a mixture of Sprite or 7Up mixed with Jolly Ranchers and a cough syrup comprised of promethazine and codeine. The mixture is said to create a euphoric state. The mixture is also known to cause seizures. Something that admittedly, Lil Wayne suffers from.
Promethazine affects the central nervous system, and after consuming a toxic amount, a person can be put into a hyper-excitable stage where the odds of potentially sufferings a seizure are greater. Known as the "heroin of the Hip Hop generation", hopefully the drug won't take the same amount of casualties as the drug heroin did to the Bee-Bop Era of Jazz, affecting the greats like Miles Davis, Byrd Parker and Coltrane.
As they say in the streets, "Weed is a fine and Dope. You'll do some time." Not to speak on it like that, but Weezy, get some help brotha, you're too talented to do that to yourself. And this fight with Birdman ain't going to be easy. Lil Weezy, I know of a great methadone clinic in Indianapolis.
For more Hip Hop News and Editorials, check out https://hiphopun.com.
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2 Chainz Feeds The Homeless In Atlanta!!!!
Jessica Reid Goes to Supreme Court
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Top Five Hip Hop Songs That Shook America!!! | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
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Risa Kent
Risa Kent, MD
Abdominal Imaging, Computed Tomography (CT), Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI), MRI Musculoskeletal, Radiology, Ultrasound
Risa Kent, MD, is a radiologist and the director of Musculoskeletal Ultrasound for Yale Medicine. Ultrasounds (or sonograms) are a noninvasive way to image the body by delivering sound waves through probes placed on the skin without the need for radiation.
In addition to vascular, abdominal, and pelvic exams, Dr. Kent performs advanced ultrasounds of the joints, tendons and muscles. She uses ultrasound to guide biopsies of the thyroid gland and lymph nodes. Additional procedures she performs include transrectal ultrasound, intraoperative ultrasound, and hysterosonography, which is a minimally invasive way to examine the uterine lining.
Dr. Kent is committed to the wellbeing of her patients. She derives satisfaction from making the correct diagnosis for patients who rely on her specialized expertise. She knows that patients sometimes feel apprehensive about their diagnostic procedures, so she does her best to offer reassurance. "I try to empathize with patients and to explain everything to them in a simple but thorough way," Dr. Kent says.
Dr. Kent is an assistant professor of radiology and biomedical imaging at Yale School of Medicine.
Yale Medicine
Yale Diagnostic Radiology
South Pavillion 2
Boston Univ School of Medicine
Cornell Univ/New York Hosp;Yale New Haven Hospital
anthem bc/bs
berkeley care network
community care network
first health network
focus healthcare
great west
tricare/champus | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
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Q: Calling spring data rest repository method doesn't return links I have the repository "ClientRepository":
public interface ClientRepository extends PagingAndSortingRepository<Client, Long> {
}
When i request http://localhost:8080/clients/1 then server responds
{
"algorithmId" : 1,
"lastNameTxt" : "***",
"firstNameTxt" : "**",
"middleNameTxt" : "**",
"_links" : {
"self" : {
"href" : "http://localhost:8080/clients/1121495168"
},
"client" : {
"href" : "http://localhost:8080/clients/1121495168"
}
}
}
Response has links as expected.
When i call repository inherited method findOne in another controller
@RestController
public class SearchRestController {
@Autowired
public SearchRestController(ClientRepository clientRepository) {
this.clientRepository = clientRepository;
}
@RequestMapping(value = "/search", method = RequestMethod.GET)
Client readAgreement(@RequestParam(value = "query") String query,
@RequestParam(value = "category") String category) {
return clientRepository.findOne(Long.parseLong(query));
}
}
it responds
{
"algorithmId" : 1,
"lastNameTxt" : "***",
"firstNameTxt" : "**",
"middleNameTxt" : "**"
}
Why doesn't response contain links in the second case? What to do to make Spring add them to response?
A:
Why doesn't response contain links in the second case?
Because Spring returns what you tell it to return: a Client.
What to do to make Spring add them to response?
In your controller method, you have to build Resource<Client> and return it.
Based on your code, the following should get you what you want:
@RequestMapping(value = "/search", method = RequestMethod.GET)
Client readAgreement(@RequestParam(value = "query") String query,
@RequestParam(value = "category") String category) {
Client client = clientRepository.findOne(Long.parseLong(query));
BasicLinkBuilder builder = BasicLinkBuilder.linkToCurrentMapping()
.slash("clients")
.slash(client.getId());
return new Resource<>(client,
builder.withSelfRel(),
builder.withRel("client"));
}
Stepping up from this, I would also suggest you to:
*
*use /clients/search rather than /search since your search for a client (makes more sense for a RESTful service)
*use a RepositoryRestController, for reasons given here
That should give you something like:
@RepositoryRestController
@RequestMapping("/clients")
@ResponseBody
public class SearchRestController {
@Autowired
private ClientRepository clientRepository;
@RequestMapping(value = "/search", method = RequestMethod.GET)
Client readAgreement(@RequestParam(value = "query") String query,
@RequestParam(value = "category") String category) {
Client client = clientRepository.findOne(Long.parseLong(query));
ControllerLinkBuilder builder = linkTo(SearchRestController.class).slash(client.getId());
return new Resource<>(client,
builder.withSelfRel(),
builder.withRel("client"));
}
}
A: The HATEOAS functionality is available out of the box only for the Spring data jpa repositories annotated with @RepositoryRestResource. That automatically exposes the rest endpoint and adds the links.
When you use the repository in the controller you just get the object and the jackson mapper maps it to json.
If you want to add links when using Spring MVC controllers take a look here
| {
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Q: How to find most frequent user agent in nginx access.log In order to counter a botnet attack, I am trying to analyze a nginx access.log file to find which user agents are the most frequent, so that I can find the culprits and deny them. How can I do that?
A: Try something like this on your access log, replace with the path to your access log, also keep in mind that some log files would get zipped and new one would be created
sudo awk -F" " '{print $1}' /var/log/nginx/access.log | sort | uniq -dc
EDIT:
Sorry I just noticed you wanted user agent instead of IP
sudo awk -F"\"" '{print $6}' /var/log/nginx/access.log | sort | uniq -dc
To sort ascending append | sort -nr and to limit to 10 append | head -10
so the final total line would be
sudo awk -F"\"" '{print $6}' /var/log/nginx/access.log | sort | uniq -dc | sort -nr | head -10
A: To get user agent
sudo awk -F'"' '/GET/ {print $6}' /var/log/nginx-access.log | cut -d' ' -f1 | sort | uniq -c | sort -rn
awk(1) - selecting full User-Agent string of GET requests
cut(1) - using first word from it
sort(1) - sorting
uniq(1) - count
sort(1) - sorting by count, reversed
| {
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} | 4,802 |
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<h2>
Class Swift_FailoverTransport
</h2> (line <span class="linenumber">20</span>)
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<a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport</a>
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--<a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport.html">Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport</a>
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--Swift_FailoverTransport</pre>
<p>
<b><i>Located in File: <a href="_vendors---swiftMailer---classes---Swift---FailoverTransport.php.html">/vendors/swiftMailer/classes/Swift/FailoverTransport.php</a></i></b><br>
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<!-- ========== Info from phpDoc block ========= -->
<h5>Contains a list of redundant Transports so when one fails, the next is used.</h5>
<ul>
<li><strong>author:</strong> - Chris Corbyn</li>
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static <span class="method-result"><a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_FailoverTransport.html">Swift_FailoverTransport</a></span>
<a href="#methodnewInstance" title="details" class="method-name">newInstance</a>
([<span class="var-type">string</span> <span class="var-name">$transports</span> = <span class="var-default">array()</span>])
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<div class="method-definition">
<span class="method-result">Swift_FailoverTransport</span>
<a href="#method__construct" title="details" class="method-name">__construct</a>
([<span class="var-type">array</span> <span class="var-name">$transports</span> = <span class="var-default">array()</span>])
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<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /> <strong class="method">Static Method newInstance</strong> (line <span class="linenumber">43</span>)
</h4>
<h4><i><a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_FailoverTransport.html">Swift_FailoverTransport</a></i> <strong>newInstance(
[string
$transports = array()])</strong></h4>
<!-- ========== Info from phpDoc block ========= -->
<h5>Create a new FailoverTransport instance.</h5>
<h4>Parameters</h4>
<ul>
<li><strong>string $transports</strong>: </li>
</ul>
<h4>Info</h4>
<ul>
<li><strong>access</strong> - public</li>
</ul>
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<img src="../../media/images/Constructor.gif" border="0" /> <strong class="method">Constructor __construct</strong> (line <span class="linenumber">27</span>)
</h4>
<h4><i>Swift_FailoverTransport</i> <strong>__construct(
[array
$transports = array()])</strong></h4>
<p><strong>Overrides :</strong> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport.html#method__construct">Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport::__construct()</a> Creates a new FailoverTransport.</p>
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<h5>Creates a new FailoverTransport with $transports.</h5>
<h4>Parameters</h4>
<ul>
<li><strong>array $transports</strong>: </li>
</ul>
<h4>Info</h4>
<ul>
<li><strong>access</strong> - public</li>
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<h4>Inherited From Class <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport</a></h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicProperty.gif" border="0" /><strong class="property"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#var$_transports">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::$_transports</a></strong> - The Transports which are used in rotation.
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<h4>Inherited From Class <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport.html">Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport</a></h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/Constructor.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport.html#method__construct">Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport::__construct()</a></strong> - Creates a new FailoverTransport.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport.html#methodsend">Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport::send()</a></strong> - Send the given Message.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport.html#method_getNextTransport">Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport::_getNextTransport()</a></strong> -
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport.html#method_killCurrentTransport">Swift_Transport_FailoverTransport::_killCurrentTransport()</a></strong> -
</h4>
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<!-- =========== Summary =========== -->
<h4>Inherited From Class <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport</a></h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/Constructor.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#method__construct">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::__construct()</a></strong> - Creates a new LoadBalancedTransport.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#methodgetTransports">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::getTransports()</a></strong> - Get $transports to delegate to.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#methodisStarted">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::isStarted()</a></strong> - Test if this Transport mechanism has started.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#methodregisterPlugin">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::registerPlugin()</a></strong> - Register a plugin.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#methodsend">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::send()</a></strong> - Send the given Message.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#methodsetTransports">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::setTransports()</a></strong> - Set $transports to delegate to.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#methodstart">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::start()</a></strong> - Start this Transport mechanism.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#methodstop">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::stop()</a></strong> - Stop this Transport mechanism.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#method_getNextTransport">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::_getNextTransport()</a></strong> - Rotates the transport list around and returns the first instance.
</h4>
<h4>
<img src="../../media/images/PublicMethod.gif" border="0" /><strong class="method"> <a href="../../Swift/Transport/Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport.html#method_killCurrentTransport">Swift_Transport_LoadBalancedTransport::_killCurrentTransport()</a></strong> - Tag the currently used (top of stack) transport as dead/useless.
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\section{Introduction}
The now widely accepted accelerated expansion of the Universe in
its recent history is yet to be fully explained. Several
possibilities to reproduce this effect have been advanced, ranging
from ``conservative'' to very unusual ones requiring new physics.
One of the most economical hypotheses that has received a great
deal of attention is the late dominance of a fluid with an
``anomalous'' equation of state, a sort of analogue of the
inflationary proposals but at a lower energy scale, the so-called
\emph{dark energy}. As is customary to write a generical equation
of state in the form $P = \omega \rho$ and in spite that values of
$\omega$ larger than $-1$ are usually considered, some works have
raised the possibility that the dark sector may be characterized
by a fluid with an equation of state with $\omega < -1$, known
throughout the literature as the \emph{phantom energy}.
There are many physical consequences of such phantom component in
a variety of physical species present in the Universe, most
notably the spacelike singularity known as the \emph{Big Rip}
\cite{caldwell,menace}, or even more fabulous possibilities, like
the \emph{Big Trip} \cite{bigtrip,bigtrip-notes}. Some effort has
been made to remove the Big Rip singularity, but it is still
premature to rule out or support definitely any scenario.
We work within a general phantom energy scenario in this paper. It
has already been acknowledged that, being such an exotic physical
species, the phantom energy may also change the accretion regime
of black holes \cite{babichev-2004}. In the present paper we
investigate the influence of phantom energy accretion onto
primordial black holes (hereafter PBHs) together with the
radiation and matter accretion/evaporation formerly addressed.
The PBH interaction with different types of energy in the universe
is the continuous subject of several sudies, as well as their
interaction with cosmological boundary condidiotns
\cite{harada-03-2007}. Several numerical results also work as test
fields for alternate gravitational theories, and the questions
regarding their very formation at extreme cosmological scenarios are
beginning to yield several interesting results \cite{harada-08-2007}.
We shall focus on the new features specifically introduced by the
phantom era \cite{babichev-2007}, and generally refer to the full
evolution of the PBHs across the mass-time plane. Previous attempts to
address this problem have been limited to the consideration of the
black holes plus phantom fluid only, although there is a more subtle
interplay among components when radiation and matter are also
included (as will be shown below). It is also of interest to
revisit the issue of the black hole behavior in the
radiation-dominated and matter-dom\-i\-nat\-ed eras (that is, well
before the phantom component can be important) for a complete
assessment of the fate of PBHs, especially their behavior in the
matter-dominated era where dark matter may fuel their growth.
\section{PBHs evolution in the early Universe}\label{acrecoes}
\subsection{The radiation-only accretion equation}
Our starting point will be the evolution equation for PBHs in the
radiation-dominated era addressed by several authors (see Cust\'odio
and Horvath \cite{custodio-2002} and references therein), which
takes into account the accretion of radiation and the Hawking
evaporation at a semiclassical level. Ignoring the (potentially
relevant) ``grey factors'' in the absorption of radiation, the
resulting differential equation for the black hole mass $M$ reads
quite generally
\begin{equation}\label{acrecao-simples}
\frac{dM}{dt} = -\frac{A(M)}{M^2} + \frac{27\pi
G^2}{c^5} \rho_{\mathrm{rad}}(T) M^2
\end{equation}
\noindent with $t$ being the cosmological time, $A(M) = \frac{\hbar
c^4}{G^2} \alpha(M)$, with $\alpha(M)$ called the \emph{running
constant} \cite{cline}, counting the degrees of freedom of the
emitted particles on the Hawking radiation (in CGS units, $A = 7,8
\times 10^{26}$~g$^3$/s for black holes evaporating today
\cite{green}), and $\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}(T)$ the radiation energy
density at temperature $T$ at the time $t$.
In a Universe also filled with phantom energy, the accretion of
such exotic component should also be taken into account. Babichev,
Dokuchaev and Eroshenko \cite{babichev-2004} have worked out a
differential equation for a black hole accreting phantom energy
only, obtaining a counterintuitive result that phantom energy
accretion {\it decreases} the overall black hole mass. The
expression is similar to the accretion term in
eq.~\eqref{acrecao-simples}, and is given by
\begin{equation}\label{acrecao-phantom}
\frac{dM}{dt} = \frac{16\pi G^2}{c^5}
M^2[\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}+p(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}})]
\end{equation}
\subsection{The complete accretion equation}
Considering the radiation accretion and evaporation terms from
eq.~\eqref{acrecao-simples} together with the new phantom energy
accretion term in eq.~\eqref{acrecao-phantom}, and assuming no
interaction between the two different species, the complete
equation for the accretion of the different types of energy into
the black hole is just
\begin{equation}
\frac{dM}{dt} = -\frac{A(M)}{M^2} + \frac{G^2}{c^5}\left[27\pi
\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}(T) + 16\pi\left(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}} +
p(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}})\right)\right] M^2
\end{equation}
Using for the phantom energy $p(\rho) = \omega\rho$, $\omega <
-1$, the phantom component of the accretion may be written as
\begin{equation}\label{pressao}
\rho_{\mathrm{ph}} + p(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}) = (1 + \omega)\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}
\end{equation}
and the complete accretion equation becomes
\begin{equation}\label{acrecao}
\frac{dM}{dt} = -\frac{A(M)}{M^2} + \frac{G^2}{c^5}\left[27\pi
\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}(T) + 16\pi(1 + \omega) \rho_{\mathrm{ph}}\right]
M^2
\end{equation}
\subsection{Accretion regimes}
As is well-known, the Friedmann equation can be solved to follow
the cosmological evolution of the phantom energy, as given by
Babichev, Dokuchaev and Eroshenko \cite{babichev-2004}.
\begin{equation}\label{fried-ph}
\left|\rho + p\right| \propto a^{-3(1+\omega)}
\end{equation}
neglecting all other contributions. The densities of the
radiation, matter and phantom energy terms evolve as represented
in the graphic shown in Figure \ref{evolucao}.
\begin{figure}[!htp]
\centering
\epsfig{file=figura0a.eps}
\caption{Evolution of the radiation, matter and phantom energy
densities with the scale factor. The exact position of
$t_{\mathrm{ph}}$ depends on the densities and equation of
state of the radiation and phantom energy.}\label{evolucao}
\end{figure}
As expected, there is an epoch in which the radiation and phantom
energy accretion terms from eq.~\eqref{acrecao} become comparable.
We call such an epoch the \emph{phantom time}, or
$t_{\mathrm{ph}}$. It must be noted that this instant is distinct
from the one when the lines of Figure \ref{evolucao} cross each
other. The phantom time represents the cosmological instant when
the phantom energy accretion term dominates the radiation term,
changing drastically the black hole evolution dynamics. We can
calculate the value of this time as a function of the initial
radiation and phantom energy densities.
The radiation density as a function of the scale factor is given
by the Friedmann equation, $\rho_{\mathrm{rad}} =
\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}^0\left(\frac{a_0}{a}\right)^4$. During the
matter-dominated era, the scale factor as a function of time is
given by
\begin{equation}\label{eradamateria}
\frac{a(t)}{a_0} = \left(\frac{3H_0t}{2}\right)^{\nicefrac{2}{3}}
\end{equation}
Therefore, the radiation density evolves in the matter-dominated
era as
\begin{equation}\label{evol-rad}
\rho_{\mathrm{rad}} = \rho_{\mathrm{rad}}^0
\left(\frac{3H_0t}{2}\right)^{-\frac{8}{3}}
\end{equation}
Similarly, with the phantom energy eq.~\eqref{pressao} and
evolving according to eq.~\eqref{fried-ph}, and with the time
dependence of the scale factor evolving as of
eq.~\eqref{eradamateria}, the phantom energy density as a function
of time is
\begin{equation}\label{evol-ph}
\rho_{\mathrm{ph}} = \frac{\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0}{\left|1 +
\omega\right|} \left(\frac{3H_0t}{2}\right)^{-{2}
(1+\omega)}
\end{equation}
The epoch when the phantom energy accretion is as important as the
radiation accretion is the instant when, equating both expressions
according to eq.~\eqref{acrecao}
\begin{equation}\label{densratio}
\rho_{\mathrm{rad}} = -\frac{16}{27}(1 + \omega)\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}
\end{equation}
Inserting the time dependences calculated in eq.~\eqref{evol-rad} and
eq.~\eqref{evol-ph}, this equation yields the \emph{phantom time}.
\begin{equation}\label{t_ph}
\frac{t_{\mathrm{ph}}}{1~\mathrm{s}} = \frac{2}{3H_0}
\left(\frac{16}{27} \frac{\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0}
{\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}^0}\right)^{{\frac{8}{3}} -{2}(1+\omega)}
\frac{1~\mathrm{km}}{1~\mathrm{Mpc}\cdot 1~\mathrm{s}}
\end{equation}
\noindent with $H_0$ expressed in
$\frac{\mathrm{km}}{\mathrm{s}\cdot\mathrm{Mpc}}$ and, as the
initial values $\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0$ and $\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}^0$,
calculated at the end of the matter-dominated era.
We can express this transition time in terms of the redshift,
using eq.~\eqref{densratio}, with the initial conditions
$\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}^0 = 8.12 \times
10^{-13}~\frac{\mathrm{erg}}{\mathrm{cm}^3}$ and
$\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0 = 1.79 \times
10^{-8}~\frac{\mathrm{erg}}{\mathrm{cm}^3}$ appropriate for the
obtained conditions, finally coming to $z_{\mathrm{ph}} \simeq 3.1$.
It is reasonable to suppose the transition between radiation and
phantom accretion to be instantaneous due to the very steep
radiation/phantom density ratio, which can be easily seen by
rewriting eq.~\eqref{t_ph} for an arbitrary epoch.
\begin{equation}
\frac{\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}}{\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}} =
\frac{\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}^0}{\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0} \left|1 +
\omega\right| \left(\frac{3H_0 t}{2}\right)^{-{\frac{8}{3}} + {2}
(1 + \omega)}
\end{equation}
The radiation density quickly becomes negligible compared to the
phantom energy. The higher the $|\omega|$, the quicker the
transition becomes.
\section{Effects of dark matter accretion}
\subsection{General results}
Up to this point we have neglected completely the possible effects
of (cold) dark matter on the PBHs, which is a popular and
reasonable explanation for the structure formation problem. Within
the CDM scenario, right after the decoupling of dark matter its
accretion onto black holes will depend on the black hole
cross-section for point-like particles. Therefore, the time
dependence of the mass would be given by
\begin{equation}
\frac{dM}{dt} = \frac{16\pi G^2}{c^2}
\frac{\rho{\mathrm{m}}}{u_{\mathrm{m}}} M^2
\end{equation}
\noindent where $u_{\mathrm{m}}$ is the dark matter particle
density, computed after the decoupling
\begin{equation}
u_{\mathrm{m}} \simeq \sqrt{\frac{3k_B
T_{\mathrm{dec}}}{m}}\frac{1+z}{(1+z)_{\mathrm{dec}}}
\end{equation}
Well before the phantom energy becomes important, the PBH mass
equation, including now the dark matter contribution, is just
\begin{equation}\label{acrecao-dm}
\frac{dM}{dt} = -\frac{A}{M^2} + \frac{27\pi G^2}{c^3}
\rho_{\mathrm{rad}} M^2 + \frac{16\pi G^2}{c^2}
\frac{\rho{\mathrm{m}}}{u_{\mathrm{m}}} M^2
\end{equation}
We must remark that we are always referring to a \emph{diffuse} CDM
component, an appropriate assumption prior to any structure
formation.
\subsection{Numerical predictions}
Because we are interested in the fate of a wide range of black hole
masses, we should integrate equation~\eqref{acrecao-dm} numerically
for several initial conditions and cosmological parameters.
To solve this equation, we first rewrite it in explicitly
time-dependent terms
\begin{equation}
\rho_{\mathrm{m}} = \rho_{\mathrm{m}}^0 (1+z)^3 =
\frac{\rho_{\mathrm{dec}}}{(1+z)_{\mathrm{dec}}^3} (1+z)^3 =
\rho_{\mathrm{dec}} \left(\frac{t_{\mathrm{dec}}}{t}
\right)^{\frac{3}{2}}
\end{equation}
Letting $m = 100~\mathrm{GeV}$ and $T_{\mathrm{dec}} \simeq
1~\mathrm{GeV}$, $(1+z)_{\mathrm{dec}} \simeq 4.26\times 10^{12}$
yields
\begin{equation}
u_{\mathrm{m}} = \sqrt{\frac{3k_B T_{\mathrm{dec}}}{m}}
\frac{1+z}{(1+z)_{\mathrm{dec}}} = 0.173c
\left(\frac{t_{\mathrm{dec}}}{t} \right)^{\frac{1}{2}}
\end{equation}
Setting $\rho_{\mathrm{m}}^0 = \frac{3H_0^2}{8\pi
G}\Omega_{\mathrm{m}} = 2.24 \times
10^{-30}~\frac{\mathrm{g}}{\mathrm{cm}^3}$ and
$\rho_{\mathrm{rad}} = \frac{3}{32\pi Gt^2}$,
equation~\eqref{acrecao-dm} reads
\begin{equation}
\frac{dM}{dt} = -\frac{A}{M^2} + \frac{81}{32}\frac{G M^2}{c^3}
\frac{1}{t^2} + \frac{16\pi (GM)^2}{c^3} \frac{\rho_{\mathrm{m}}^0
(1+z)_{\mathrm{dec}}^3}{0.173c} \frac{t_{\mathrm{dec}}}{t}
\end{equation}
which can be solved introducing new variables $y = \frac{M}{M_0}$,
$M_0 = \frac{\alpha c^3 t_0}{G} \def \mathrm{initial black hole mass}$
and $x = \log\left(\frac{t}{t_0}\right)$, yielding an equation of the form
\begin{equation}
\frac{dy}{dt} = -a_1 y^{-2} e^x + a_2 y^2 e^{-x} + a_3 y^2
\end{equation}
\noindent
with $a_1 = \frac{AG}{\alpha c^3 M_0^2} = \frac{1.30 \times
10^{-13}}{\alpha M_0^2}$, $a_2 = \frac{81}{32}\alpha =
2.53125\alpha$ and $a_3 = 1.38 \times 10^{-42}M_0$.
The dark matter accretion should be taken into account for $x \geq
x_{\mathrm{dec}}$. We may also introduce an instant $x_*$ similar
to the phantom time, in which the dark matter and radiation
accretion have the same value. An estimate for $x_{\mathrm{dec}}$
and $x_*$ is given by
\begin{eqnarray}
t_0 = 2.47\times 10^{-38} M_0 &\rightarrow& x_{\mathrm{dec}} =
\log\left(\frac{6.72 \times 10^{30}}{M_0}\right)\\
a_2 y^2 e^{-x} = a_3 y^2 &\rightarrow& x_* =
\log\left(\frac{1.83 \times 10^{41}}{M_0}\right)
\end{eqnarray}
Table \ref{xis} summarizes a few numerical estimates for
$x_{\mathrm{dec}}$ and $x_*$, covering most of the important PBH
masses.
\begin{table}[!htp]
\centering
\caption{Numerical values for $x_{\mathrm{dec}}$ and $x_0$ for some
initial values for the black hole mass, along with calculations for
the times of evaporation with ($x_{\mathrm{evap}}^{\mathrm{m}}$) and
without ($x_{\mathrm{evap}}$) dark matter.}
\label{xis}
\begin{tabular}{c|cccc}
\hline
$M_0$ (g) & $x_{\mathrm{dec}}$ & $x_*$ & $x_{\mathrm{evap}}$ &
$x_{\mathrm{evap}}^{\mathrm{m}}$\\
\hline
10$^8$ & 52.56 & 76.59 & 63.99 & 63.99\\
10$^9$ & 50.26 & 74.29 & 68.59 & 68.59\\
10$^{10}$ & 47.96 & 71.98 & 73.20 & 73.10\\
10$^{11}$ & 45.65 & 69.68 & 77.81 & 77.81\\
10$^{12}$ & 43.35 & 67.38 & 82.41 & 82.41\\
10$^{13}$ & 41.05 & 65.08 & 87.01 & 87.01\\
10$^{14}$ & 38.75 & 62.77 & 91.62 & 91.62\\
10$^{15}$ & 36.44 & 60.47 & 96.23 & 96.22\\
10$^{16}$ & 34.14 & 58.17 & 100.83 & 100.83\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{table}
An inspection of Table \ref{xis} shows that only black holes with
masses greater than 10$^9$~g should be influenced by the dark
matter accretion at early times. However, this effect of the dark
matter term happens to be small, because it is rapidly overcome by
the accretion of radiation. This can be expected on physical
grounds because the geometrical dilution of the dark matter
component ``starves" the PBHs by quickly diminishing the flux of
particles coming into them. Note that this particular evolution
does {\it not} refer to much later epochs where dark matter halos
had formed, possibly then contributing to the growth of PBHs as
seeds for the ultimate supermassive galactic residents.
The numerical results for the evolution through time are depicted
in Figure \ref{thegraph} for the highest initial condition, as an
example. The resulting bump in the mass (Fig.~\ref{thegraph}) has been
exaggerated for the sake of clarity.
\section{Behavior of the critical mass function}
With expression eq.~\eqref{t_ph} for the time, we can calculate
the value of the critical mass $M_c$ in the instant
$t_{\mathrm{ph}}$. From Cust\'odio and Horvath
\cite{custodio-2002}, the expression for the critical mass is
\begin{equation}\label{massacritica}
M_c(t) \sim 10M_{\textrm{Haw}}
\left(\frac{t}{1\mathrm{s}}\right)^{\frac{1}{2}} \mathrm{g}
\end{equation}
During the late phantom energy accretion dominance era, a critical
mass function would be meaningless, since there is no longer a
relevant mass increase mechanism. Thus, the largest value
reachable by the critical mass in a Universe filled only by
radiation and phantom energy is
\begin{equation}
M_c^{\mathrm{max}} \sim 10M_{\mathrm{Haw}} \frac{2}{3H_0}
\left(\frac{16}{27} \frac{\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0}
{\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}^0}\right)^{{\frac{8}{3}}
-{2}(1+\omega)}~\mathrm{g}
\end{equation}
After this time, the Hawking evaporation is no longer a relevant
mechanism for black hole mass decrease, until its mass reaches the
transition value discussed in section \ref{transitiontime}.
It is also convenient to calculate the initial mass of the black
hole which disappears at $t_{\mathrm{ph}}$. For that purpose, it
is enough to consider only the Hawking term in
eq.~\eqref{acrecao-simples}, which yields the well-known solution
\begin{equation}\label{tau}
\tau = \frac{1}{3A(M)}M_i^3
\end{equation}
\noindent where $\tau$ is the evaporation timescale. Restoring the
cgs units $\tau$ reads
\begin{equation}
\tau \sim 10^{71}\left(\frac{M_i}{M_{\mathrm{\astrosun}}}\right)^3
\end{equation}
Combining eq.~\eqref{massacritica} and eq.~\eqref{tau}, we find a
third degree equation in $M_c$, whose solution is the critical
mass of the black hole that will evaporate {\it completely} at $t
= t_{\mathrm{ph}}$
\begin{equation}
\frac{M_c^3}{3A(M)} + \frac{M_c^2}{100M_{\mathrm{Haw}}^2} =
t_{\mathrm{ph}}
\end{equation}
\noindent We use the numerical values of $A(M) \leq 7,8 \times
10^{26}~\frac{\mathrm{g}^3}{\mathrm{s}}$ \cite{custodio-2002} and
$M_{\mathrm{Haw}} \equiv 10^{15}~\mathrm{g}$, as well as the
numerical values of $\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}$, $\rho_{\mathrm{rad}}$,
$\omega$ and $H_0$ necessary to compute $t_{\mathrm{ph}}$. The
instant when the critical mass assumes this value is found by
inverting eq.~\eqref{massacritica}.
Since the mass gain due to radiation accretion is not substantial
\cite{custodio-2002}, all
black holes with $M_i \lesssim M_c^{\mathrm{ph}}$, which reach
critical mass at $T_{\mathrm{cross}}\lesssim t_c$, will disappear
before $t_{\mathrm{ph}}$ and will never reach the phantom era.
\section{The competition between phantom accretion and Hawking
evaporation}\label{transitiontime}
We have emphasized before that, since after $t_{\mathrm{ph}}$
there is no efficient mechanism that could increase the mass of
the black holes, there is no longer a critical mass function.
However, due to the presence of a phantom field, there are now
\emph{two} distinct regimes of mass decrease, whose relative
importance depends on the mass of a given PBH entering the phantom
era.
Taking eq.~\eqref{acrecao} and neglecting the radiation term, we
can describe the evolution of black hole masses during the phantom
era. Let us define a ratio between the two remaining terms,
\begin{equation}
\xi(M) = \frac{\dot{M}_{\mathrm{ph}}}{\dot{M}_{\mathrm{Haw}}} =
\frac{G^2}{c^3}\frac{16\pi(1+\omega)\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}}{A(M)} M^4
\end{equation}
\noindent or, in terms of a {\it transition mass}
\begin{equation}\label{ratio}
\xi(M) = \left(\frac{M}{M_t}\right)^4
\end{equation}
\noindent
with
\begin{equation}\label{transicao}
M_t = \left[\frac{c^3}{16 \pi G^2}
\frac{A(M)}{(1+\omega)\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}}\right]^{\nicefrac{1}{4}}
\end{equation}
Substituting numerical values for the constants, we obtain an
expression for $M_t$ in terms of the phantom field density
\begin{equation}\label{transicao-num}
M_t \cong 5.5 \times
10^{17}[(1+\omega)\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}]^{-\nicefrac{1}{4}}~\mathrm{g}
\end{equation}
\noindent with $\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}$ given in g/cm$^3$.
Since both regimes are of mass \emph{decrease}, the black hole
mass will diminish mostly due to phantom accretion until it
reaches $M_t$. After this, the predominant effect will be Hawking
evaporation, since eq.~\eqref{ratio} shows that the change in
regimes is sufficiently sudden for us to make this approximation.
To find the time dependence of the transition mass, we must first
know the evolution of the phantom density. According to the
Friedmann equations for the phantom fluid, we finally obtain
\cite{babichev-2004}
\begin{equation}
(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}})^{-\frac{1}{2}} =
(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0)^{-\frac{1}{2}} + \frac{3(1+\omega)}{2}
\left(\frac{8\pi G}{3} \right)^{\frac{1}{2}} t
\end{equation}
\noindent with $(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0)^{-\frac{1}{2}}$ being the
initial density of the phantom field. Inserting this result on
equation eq.~\eqref{transicao-num} the time dependence of $M_t$ is
obtained
\begin{equation}
M_t \cong \frac{8.29 \times
10^{21}}{(1+\omega)^{\frac{1}{4}}}
\left[(\rho_{\mathrm{ph}}^0)^{-\frac{1}{2}} + \frac{3(1+\omega)}{2}
\left(\frac{8\pi G}{3}\right) t \right]^{\frac{1}{2}}~\mathrm{g}
\end{equation}
The initial value of the transition mass depends on both the
initial value of the phantom density and on $\omega$. It is worth
remarking that this transition mass is meaningless in the
radiation-accretion regime.
The differences between the three regimes is depicted in Figure
\ref{thegraph}.
\begin{figure}[!htp]
\centering
\epsfig{file=figura1a.eps,width=.45\textwidth}
\caption{Primordial black hole evolution in the
matter-radiation-phantom energy scenario. The thick lines represent
the different trajectories of black holes of different initial
masses. The Big Rip singularity occurs at $t_{BR}$.}\label{thegraph}
\end{figure}
It is important to stress that the Hawking evaporation does not
become negligible after $t_{\mathrm{ph}}$ if taken into account as an
independent process. However, the masses for which it becomes
important ($M < M_t$) drop by a factor of $10^5$ after the
transition. This suddenly drives many black holes, but not all, into
the new regime. When, however, the black holes reach the Planck mass,
a full quantum gravity analysis becomes necessary to properly
determine its fate, since it has been shown that the Hawking
evaporation no longer behaves as expected on such scales
\cite{custodio-2006,coreanos}.
\section{Conclusions}
We have studied in the present work the evolution of PBH for
various regimes of accretion/evaporation in the very early and
contemporary Universe. In particular, we have extended and
clarified the evolution in the radiation-dominated and
matter-dominated eras, including the features of diffuse CDM
accretion producing only a small bump in the mass of the PBHs at
early times. We have generally confirmed previously known features
of the semiclassical pictures of PBH evolution from a general
point of view. Novel features are introduced in this scenario when
a phantom energy component is introduced, as suggested by
Babichev, Dokuchaev and Eroshenko \cite{babichev-2004}.
Broadly speaking, a phantom field introduces another evaporation
regime that competes with the celebrated Hawking evaporation. We
have found that the joint consideration of the relevant terms
quenches the asymptotic approach to a common mass resulting from
the phantom term only. This conclusion should, however, not be
considered as definitive. Its validity rests on the assumption of
the entropy for the phantom fluid being negligible, which is not
the most general possibility. In fact, the enforcement of the
Generalized Second Law (GSL) of thermodynamics would {\it forbid}
the evaporation of the PBHs by phantom accretion
\cite{IzqPav,nosotros} In addition, it is not clear whether the
GSL should be valid in presence of the phantom fluid not
respecting the dominant energy condition, as pointed out by
Izquierdo and Pav\'on \cite{IzqPav}, and models may be constructed
in which the GSL must be modified. There is a rich variety of
behaviors \cite{odintsov,sadjadi} within phantom energy models that remains to
be explored in connection with the PBH evolution problem. In
particular, late evaporation may conflict with the generalized second
law of thermodynamics \cite{nosotros}.
\begin{acknowledgements}
D.C.G and J.E.H. authors wish to thank CNPq (Brazil) for financial
support through grants and fellowships. J.A.F.P has been supported
by CNRS and Fapesp Agency during a research visit to IAG-USP to
complete this work.
\end{acknowledgements}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 376 |
Dedication
To my grandmother, Meg "Mimi" Wilson, whose love and support will last me a lifetime, and Spunky, my little werewolf.
Chapter One
John Whistler reckoned he was within thirty miles of the wanted men when they lost the wheel. Now the stagecoach was out of commission, the bounty hunter stranded to hell in the bowels of the Mexican desert, with nobody but two damn do-nothing stage drivers and the Sonoma rental wench. It was the gloaming, the sky getting dark, but the edge was off the terrible heat so he figured they'd picked a good time to break down as any.
The big mustached man in duster and ten-gallon hat stood impatiently rotating and clicking the cylinder of his Colt Dragoon pistol about two hundred feet from the disabled wagon. Whistler stared out at the forbidding, craggy Durango canyon country and vast canopy of turquoise- and purple- and rose-streaked late evening sky. He listened to the two Wells Fargo men arguing and cussing and the sounds of banging and creaking as the men finished the repairs on the broken slats of the right rear wheel they were fitting back into place. The weathered brown carriage was tilted at an obtuse angle. The team of four horses stood bored in their harness at the front of the chassis, tails flitting at flies.
Whistler looked over to where the sweat-soaked fifteen-year-old prostitute in the black velvet corset and petticoat stood fanning herself. She winked at him. Eyes of violet, red hair spilling down her shoulders, she smelt sweetly of rose water and sex. Her name she'd told him was Daisy and she had herself a going concern riding the stage line back and forth, servicing passengers and kicking back a few bucks to the driver. A sweet little set up. The whore had been knee to knee with him the whole trip from Sonoma in the cramped and jouncing stage, bouncing pale freckled breasts spilling out of her corset a few feet from his face on the opposite seat. The first ten got him a blowjob. Another twenty got her to hike up her petticoats and the bump of stage did the work for him.
The bounty hunter took out his silver pocket watch on the chain from his vest and snapped it open. The name "John Whistler" was engraved in elegant lettering inside the lid. The hands of the clock read 7:53. Annoyed at being behind schedule, the man gruffly closed the watch and pocketed it.
The stagecoach junction was supposed to be just twenty miles from here, the old driver told him. Damn bit of luck. Whistler would have been there already, should have made it by dusk but for the stage mishap. Hell, he had those bad men he hunted dead to rights. They might not be there tomorrow morning. No matter, he was right on their ass and would catch up with them soon enough. The bounty hunter took out the folded wanted poster in his pocket and regarded it. The crudely sketched faces of the three outlaws stared back at him from the crumpled paper in the red hue of twilight.
Samuel Tucker.
John Fix.
Lars Bodie.
Notorious names in bold block-type lettering just above the $1,000.00 reward notice on each of their heads. Gunfighters and killers with lots of bodies strewn in their wake. These men were good, but he was better. The bounty hunter had gotten his lead on their current whereabouts from a Mexican ramrod who had seen them just the evening before in a small outpost thirty miles east from where Whistler now stood. The trail was coming to an end. Their bodies would be slung over saddles. Or his would.
He'd be out of Mexico one way or the other. He drew and admired his Smith & Wesson Scofield .45. It had no trigger guard. Made it faster to draw and fire unimpeded by such inconveniences. A saguaro cactus sat like an upright fork a few hundred yards away, the tines poking black spokes against the glowing rust of the end of the day. He contemplated a little target practice on the plant to kill the time, but reckoned he better save his bullets. The formidable men he was hunting knew how to place theirs.
Mostly, he just wanted the hell out of Mexico.
From the sound of things behind him, they were getting that wheel fixed, and it was about time. He turned around to see the fat, bearded stage driver and his young Mexican shotgunner in the scarf and vest tightening the bolts on the displaced wagon wheel and using wrenches to adjust the torque on the axle. Any time now they'd be back on the road. But he'd lost a day.
"How you boys doing on that wheel?" Whistler called over.
"It's repaired, but you best settle in, mister," the old stage driver grumbled. "Because we're here for the night and pulling out at dawn."
"That does not suit me."
"It doesn't matter. We're not driving this stage in the dark, not through this kind of terrain."
"But—"
"There be cliffs and ruts and ravines everywhere along the trail 'twixt here and the junction and the stage could take a plunge with one wrong turn."
The four people grouped by the carriage in the failing light.
A huge full moon hung in the sky, clouded with haze.
They heard the wolves.
Not like any Whistler heard before. A keening, yipping lupine chorus came from all sides out in the canyons. The howls began low but rose in strident pitch and timbre until they became a high shrieking bay. It was a sound to freeze your blood. The bounty hunter looked at the stage driver, who was looking at the Mexican guard with the shotgun, who seemed like he was about to soil himself.
"Coyotes?" Whistler asked, staring out into the near total darkness that began about three hundred feet from where they stood. The desert spaces that in daylight spread so vast were now claustrophobic and invisible beyond. The full moon was high and bright, obstructed by clouds and oddly cast no light. A tiny trickle of moonlight showed a crag of mountain peak in the gloom.
"Sure," said the old Wells Fargo guy.
" _Niente_ ," whispered the guard.
"What then?"
The guard didn't answer.
The big wolves, or whatever they were, roared in unison, a sonic garrote of cacophonic sound tightening around them. Closing in. The hooker was shivering in fear, her eyes huge as her dainty hands covered her ears against the bellowing growls. "Something's out there. We got to get out of here," she whimpered.
"I'm with her," Whistler said, confronting the driver. "We best be on our way directly."
The old timer threw down, yelling in the bounty hunter's face, spattering saliva. "I told you tain't driving this rig at night on this trail or the stagecoach will crash because I cain't see for shit!"
By now the four horses were starting to panic, pawing the ground with their hooves, long snouts whipping back and forth in their bridles and bits, eyes like marbles and ears pinned back at the horrific music in the hills.
The monstrous roaring echoing around the canyons continued unabated and drew nearer and nearer. The guard, pale and face pouring with sweat, started babbling to the driver in Spanish, and the old man yelled back at him in the local tongue that Whistler barely understood. One thing was obvious. The Mexican knew what those sounds belonged to and wanted out of there. The argument became a shoving match, and the younger man won, clambering desperately up into the driver's bench by the luggage roof rack, grabbing the reins and gesturing madly for the bounty hunter and the hooker to get into the stagecoach and hurry it up.
"After you, ma'am," quipped Whistler to the tart. He opened the door and eased her into the carriage with a helpful hand up her skirt on her firm rear end. Then he put his boot on the metal step and climbed in across from her.
"Shit!" swore the old Wells Fargo driver, climbing up onto the driver's seat and cursing the whole way. He shoved the guard aside, grabbing the reins. "I'm drivin'," he shouted, "you'll put us in a damn ditch. YYEEEE—AHHH!" He cracked the reins and the team surged forward, the stagecoach pulling out.
The carriage picked up speed, scared horses hauling the rig at a full gallop. The wagon rocked back and forth on the uneven terrain as it plunged into the desert nocturne. Whistler could still hear the howling, but they seemed to be moving away from it. All he heard were the sounds of the wooden wheels on the rocks, the squeaking of the chassis suspension and the loud pounding of the hooves. He looked across from him in the tight, trembling quarters to see the hooker frozen in the leather seat a few feet away, pale fragile face staring out the open window of the stagecoach, eyes bugging out.
"Hurry, hurry..." she murmured.
The big wolves bayed.
And gave chase.
The bounty hunter drew both pistols and gripped them in his fists, looking out the other window. The moon was waxen. Vague jagged landscape and blurred rock formations rushed past in near total darkness. The wagon was picking up speed, hurtling recklessly now, the shuddering carriage violently jarred by the broken trail. It hit a big rock and rose off its wheels, slamming down on its suspension so hard it tossed him and the woman to and fro. She screamed again and held onto the leather hand straps for dear life. The bounty hunter leaned up against the window, pistols at ready and looked out, thinking he caught glimpses of big, bounding black forms keeping pace with the speeding stagecoach.
The loud, dull report of a shotgun blast sounded from the roof.
Then another.
Something hit the other side of the stagecoach like a boulder, knocking the wagon into a veering fishtail.
The old man released a horrible high-pitched scream of agony as his body was dragged off the roof seat and smashed against the door in a blur of cloth and red flesh with a bone-snapping _thud bang crack_.
The hooker saw the driver torn from the carriage and was screaming hysterically now. Whistler had to slap her silly to shut her up as he crawled across the seat to look out the other window. He fired two shots blind into the blackness, hopefully at least wounding a few of the things.
With a terrible crash, something landed on the roof so heavy it cracked the wooden ceiling.
The cowboy rolled onto his back, fanned and fired six times with his pistol up into the roof and blew the unseen monster on top of it off. He heard the beast land with a furry _thump_ on the trail behind them with snarls of spitting fury.
Whistler still couldn't see anything, just hear it.
Keeping a pistol clenched in each gloved fist, the bounty hunter huddled with the cowering prostitute in the center of the madly charging stagecoach, listening to the deafening symphony of chaos outside the near total darkness of the hell-for-leather ride. The tambourine of the harnesses. The frightened whinnying. The din of galloping hooves just outside the cramped interior of the carriage. The crack of the whip sounded over that, then the report of the shotgun and in the muzzleflare, the flash briefly illuminated the hulking, hard charging beasts flanking the wagon. The stagecoach barreled on through the night, suspension jouncing on the rocks and stones of the broken trail. The small compartment pitched and yawed, throwing Whistler against the door. Out the open window, he saw the ghostly black shapes appear and disappear, the sound of their paws pounding the ground below the thunder of the horses. Whatever these beasts were they were big and incredibly fast.
They weren't outrunning them, that's for sure.
A giant claw on a furry black paw struck the door of the stage and dragged down, cutting through the wood.
"Get down!" Whistler roared to the shrieking hooker.
Something landed on the side of the rig, giant and hairy and malodorous. Its great weight heaved the carriage sideways, nearly tipping it as it came up on one wheel. Leaping up, he aimed his Scofield out the open window frame and fired twice point blank into the hulking form. The darkness was total but in the split-second flash of fire from his barrel he saw the great globular red eyes and the pink lapping tongue and long extended snout. The bullets hit their mark, and the thing was off the stage, tumbling in a cloud of dust on the side of the trail receding to their rear.
A pack of the creatures was running alongside the out-of-control carriage, like wolves at the heel of a deer, trying to take it down. The horrific roaring, snorting and snarling ripped the air.
The woman screamed again.
The door on her side was torn off completely. A black chasm gaped through the shattered-wood opening. Her hair and clothes were swept by the whipping wind. She clung to the frame on the door for dear life. Something had her from behind.
Time stood still.
Whistler stared regretfully into the hooker's bulging eyes, seeing her fingers slip from their purchase on the wagon. He did her a kindness by shooting her once in the forehead as sinewy black furred paws snatched her out with claws the size of carving knives.
The wolves fell back as the rig careened around a treacherous curve.
Whistler risked it and stuck his head out the opening to look up at the driver's perch. It was empty. The wagon was driverless, the galloping team of horses ready to send it to a ditch at any moment. Those monsters were still out there.
The bounty hunter was alone on the speeding stage and his guns were empty.
His Winchester carbine repeater was in the luggage on the roof.
Swinging out the open door frame, Whistler reached up, grabbed the roof rail and began to pull himself out of the carriage. Immediately he was blasted by the wind from the hurtling wagon. As he struggled to haul himself up into the empty driver's perch, he used boots as well as hands for purchase but was nearly tossed off to certain death by the heaving motion of the stage. The huge bounding black shapes were everywhere behind him in the wake of dust off the wheels, resembling giant elongated wolves. As the hunter shrugged himself up with his arms and elbows onto the slatted seats, something grabbed his leg. He felt like his limb had been hit by an axe and a searing wetness spread across his entire calf. Ignoring the pain, the cowboy got all the way up on the top of the stagecoach and began reaching for his suitcase lashed to the roof. He tore off the ropes and pushed away the hooker's satchel, knocking it off the wagon top where it bounced to the ground and flew open scattering lingerie and undies. Then with both hands, he located his own suitcase and pulled the lid of his leather case open quickly to draw out his long steel Winchester repeater rifle.
Now armed, the bounty hunter confidently used the roof rack as a turret to steady his aim, opening fire on the rampaging creatures attacking the stage.
"Eat lead, you ugly sumbitches!" he shouted as he squinted down the gunsight and pulled the trigger and cocked the lever again and again. Fire erupted out the barrel as spent shells flew every which way from the breech. The beasts were struck by his shots right and left and fell and rolled, but they got up again. He cocked and fired, cocked and fired, and they went down and got right up and before he even considered he was running out of bullets, he knew this was no good.
A bear-sized black shape leaped on top of the team of horses and went to work with front and rear claws. Two more black shapes jumped at their legs and hamstrung the animals with their talons, bringing all two tons of stallion down at the same time in a terrifying jumble of harness and horse flesh and hooves. Bones snapped and bridles twisted. The chains of the harness linking the team to the carriage got tied up in the falling horses and the wagon impacted the whole huge knot of dead animals. The stagecoach flipped fifteen feet up in the air and spun twice before it came crashing to earth in smithereens of shattering wood, rent steel, flying wagon wheels and chassis parts. John Whistler was tossed a good hundred feet like a limp rag doll. He landed with a hard thud on the rocks and heard something inside him break.
Can't pass out, he told himself.
The man crawled for his gun.
His fingers touched the cold steel, and everything went funny.
Something struck his neck, and Whistler was rolling, the world turning over and over then right side up again. The ground was sideways. He saw his decapitated body lying ten feet away from him in his good suit, neck stump cleanly cleaved as the last oxygenated blood to his brain kept his severed head conscious for a few remaining seconds. His trunk was dragged by dark paws into the inky blackness as a huge fanged red maw swallowed his head whole.
Chapter Two
Alvarez woke to a white-hot sun searing through his eyelids.
He was flat on his back in the burning desert sand.
The flesh of his arm was being ripped away.
And then the thief was screaming as he blinked his crusted eyes open to see the rotted pink head of the stinking buzzard, its foul yellowed beak tugging at a flap of wet red flesh on his bicep. God, the pain! Panic and terror turned his guts to jelly. Out of pure reflex, he grabbed for the gun in his belt, yanking it out of the holster to jam the muzzle into the vulture's black-feathered chest, pulling the trigger again and again.
_Click click click._
Empty.
Shit!
It was coming back to him now how he used up all his bullets the night before and the horror he had used them on.
Right now he was being eaten alive by a carrion bird ripping a piece of his arm off while more vultures circled overhead. Adrenaline kicked in. Flipping the big Colt Navy pistol in his hand to grip it by the barrel, he wielded the wooden butt like a club, bringing it down again and again on the buzzard's fetid skull, beating its brains out. The vulture flapped its wings, blowing its stench, and screeched and cawed against the blows. "I am not dead yet, you stinking bastard!" the bandit cried hoarsely. "So you don't get to eat me! I kill you first! I kill _you_!" Alvarez brutally pistol-whipped the vulture until he felt the mottled skull cave in. Soft wet matter splattered his hair. Then the disgusting bird was down on the ground, not moving except for the death twitch of its limpid talons. The man laughed in demented triumph. "Who's dead _now_ , eh? What, nothing to say? Hahaha! That's right, because it is _you_ that is _dead,_ you filthy fucking scavenger! I, Alvarez, am alive!"
Not for long.
Sitting up took great effort, as did staggering to his feet, but the wounded man managed to stand up. He swayed, dizzy from loss of blood, blinking away white spots in front of his eyes from the sun he'd been staring into. When his vision partially cleared he saw that he was alone in a sweltering desolate expanse of the Durango desert stretching out in all directions as far as he could see.
The dead vulture lay at his feet.
Alvarez shuddered at the memory of it feeding on him.
His dangling right arm throbbed in raw, savage pain. To his horror, the awful wound from the night before was festering. Bite marks of huge teeth punctured his swollen bicep like rows of bullet holes from elbow to shoulder. Blood was caked and dried over huge raking bruises on the rent flesh. The arm bone felt broken by the clamp of those monstrous jaws. He tried to move his fingers but they were numb and not working.
Now all at once he remembered the monster that wounded him last night; horrific memories of fangs and fur flooded back. A half-remembered nightmare that was all too real.
Filled with dread, the man looked around him until he located the stagecoach outpost in the distance. It jutted like a broken tooth out of the arid terrain a half a mile away. The small structure sat silent and still. Nothing moved inside, and from what he recalled, nothing would. Flocks of vultures flew in and out of dark windows that resembled eye sockets of a skull. More ugly buzzards perched on the wooden roof or circled like black fangs in the sky, attracted by the death that lay within. A path of his footprints in the sand led from the outpost up to where he had fallen and the indentation of his own shape on the ground with the wide dark stain of dried blood buzzing with flies. The stagecoach junction was a tomb, and while the little building afforded the only shelter from the deadly heat, he would sooner die before returning there.
But Alvarez knew he better find a doctor before gangrene set in.
It wasn't going to be easy.
The wounded man was in the middle of nowhere, engulfed by pitiless badlands vast and empty that seemingly went on forever. The sun was a searing oven, roasting him from on high.
What was he going to do? he wondered.
Better start walking.
Move those legs.
So he began taking clumsy steps, buckling under the punishing heat.
Touching the pocket of his trousers, Alvarez felt the bulge of the pouch; he still had his silver, what had gotten him into all this. Too bad he would not live to spend it because his wound was bad, so much blood lost, and there was nowhere to go for help.
But he kept walking.
And walking.
The day got hotter.
He grew closer to death with each unsteady step.
The wounded man would stagger over a hill in desperate hope he would spot some sign of civilization only to crest the rise to face more blasted empty terrain. In his delirium and despair, the thief was not sure how far he had walked before he saw the horses.
Two of them, in the distance; twin horses and riders melting like a mirage out of the watery waves of rising heat. He raised his hands above his head and flagged them down, praying that the _caballos_ and _hombres_ astride them were not a hallucination.
Alvarez had fallen to his knees and wept in relief when the two Federales rode up, even through he had been running from them only yesterday. What a difference a day makes. Their tan button coats and caps blotted the sun as they sat in their saddles, light glinting off their brass buttons and the cartridges in their bullet belts. "I surrender, _senors_ , please, take me in," the thief begged, and the obliging _policia_ _federal_ took him into custody directly.
The prisoner Alvarez sat at the table.
The rusty iron manacles bit his ankles.
The fat Federale sat across from him. The thin unshaven one leaned against the wall. They were inside a squat single-story outpost nestled in the foothills, a few miles from where he had been picked up. The police station, if it could be called that, was a hovel. Brick walls, dirt floors. A rifle rack in the corner. Two cots against the left wall. Empty whisky bottles. In the next room, he could see the bars of a cell. The air was close and stank of sweat and body odor.
And gangrene.
His arm wound had been washed and bound with a dirty cloth, but was infected. He could already smell the onset of necrosis. "I need a doctor," Alvarez groaned through teeth grit in pain.
"We said we will get you one," said the cop behind him. "After you talk."
They had found the silver when they searched him. The pouch sat on the table, out of his reach, and there was no point in lying to these men.
"My name is Pedro Alvarez," the prisoner began. "And I will tell you what you want to know." You bet you will, said the grim expressions on his captors' faces. One way or the other.
The fat one pushed a worn wanted poster showing a trio of _Americanos_ under his nose. "Do you ride with these men?" the thin one barked. Alvarez stared dumbly at the hard faces of the three bad men in the crude sketches, but the letters on the crumpled paper meant nothing to him.
"Look at them!"
"He asked you a question, shit for brains!" The thief got punched in the back of the head by the cop against the wall.
"I can't read." Alvarez lowered his eyes in shame.
"Their names are Tucker, Bodie and Fix. _Hombres muy peligrosos._ Gringo __ gunmen down here who have done many robberies, killed many people with their fast _pistolas_. Do you ride with them?"
"No, _senors_ , I do not know these men. I swear I have never seen them."
"You have not heard of the reward?"
"What reward?"
"You have never ridden with these gunfighters?"
"I do not know them!"
The fat officer punched the table with a beefy fist. "Then where did you get the silver? We know you stole it!"
"I am a thief. I robbed the money, as you said. It was a paymaster in Sinaloa but I did not kill him, _senors_ , just hit him on the head a little bit, enough to drop him. This I swear to you on the grave of my mother. For the last three days I have been on the run. My plan was to catch the stagecoach at the Aqua Verde junction and escape to Mexico City, but the stage it never came. Last night, we had all of us been waiting there for hours at the junction when the trouble started."
" _Who_ was waiting?"
"There were five of us. Two _vaqueros_ , the man who sold the tickets and a fancy woman and her little girl. They steered clear of me, _senors,_ because of my stench for not having bathed in days, and that was fine with me. I did not want to be noticed, you see. My brain was worried the Federales would catch up to me any minute, and if I did not get on that stage and get to Mexico City then I was a dead man." The prisoner laughed ironically. "Just a few hours ago, I thought getting arrested was the worst thing that could happen to me, but I was wrong. Now here I am, you caught me, and I am relieved because what I met up with last night was worse than anything the law could do to me."
"Don't bet on it."
"Put me in jail and throw away the key, _senors,_ it would better than what attacked us. Here I am safe."
"Go on. Finish your story."
"The stagecoach did not come. Something else did."
"Is that what happened to your arm?"
Alvarez winced, clutching the gruesome bandaged wound in his bicep. "I need a doctor."
"That depends on your story."
"May I have a cigarette at least?"
One of the _policia_ pushed over his fixings and matchbox. The thief spat on a piece of rolling paper, added a pinch of shag tobacco, closed it, licked it and put it to his lips. He struck a match and sucked smoke, coughing. "Maybe two hours passed. We looked out the window for any sign of the stagecoach. We would have surely seen its approach for the moon was full and very bright. You could look out and see the whole desert for many miles. But there was no dust on the horizon. And it was so quiet, _senors_ , no desert sounds, no _insectos_ , not even wind. No sweet music of the night. _Niente._ That is how I knew, how we all knew, something was very wrong. I admit I was very scared, _senors_." His eyes widened in horror. "We heard them before we saw them. Howls, many howls, like wolves but not wolves. From everywhere."
The Federales exchanged dubious glances.
"It was an unholy sound that filled our hearts with fear. One of the _vaqueros_ saw the first one through the window and when we rushed over there were many more, circling. Big, black shapes. Hairy. The ticket man took his rifle and fired into the things, shot many times, cocking his Winchester again and again but the bullets did not kill them and did not scare them off. So we locked the door and bolted the window shutters. That was when we heard the horses in the corral being killed. These were big horses, _senors_ , but you should have heard their cries of pain and terror and the _repungante_ sounds of meat being ripped from their bones and savagely devoured _. ¡Qué horror!_ What kind of animal is powerful enough to kill a full-grown horse and tear it to pieces, I ask you?"
"They were coyotes, you ignorant peasant!" The fat Federale glared in disgust at the bandit. " _Mira!_ Have you never seen a coyote before?"
Alvarez shook his head vigorously, like a wet dog drying itself. "No, no, no. These things were big and fast, _muy grande_ like coyotes but larger than men and their _teeth_ , _senors,_ such huge fangs! We pushed the stove and table against the door and windows but _los bestias_ smashed and tore at the building with such force we felt the whole place shake. The little girl, she was screaming and her mother held her, but her mother she was hysterical too. I saw one _vaquero_ get his head ripped off as a shutter caved in and a huge paw broke through the wood and those claws peeled the man's face from his skull like a banana and there was blood everywhere. The other _caballero_ pissed himself when he saw his friend die in this way. You can bet I had my gun out by now and _bang,_ I shot one of the claws off the monster and then I was at the window and fired right into its face, _bang bang bang_..."
Alvarez's eyes suddenly went glassy and unfocused. "I saw its _face_. It was not wolf and not man. It had jaws like a wolf and ears and fur like _el lobo_ but the eyes, _senors_ , its _ojos_ were those of an _hombre_. _Sus ojos eran come rojos carbones_. I shot it in the face five times, not thinking I was wasting my bullets because there were so many _bestias_. The shots blew pieces off the monster's head, putting a hole in its skull and I saw the bloody brain." The thief's voice fell to a whisper. "And it grinned at me. A mocking grin, ear to ear. The bullets did not hurt it, _senors_ , and in the ten seconds this happened, I saw its face grow back."
The fat Federale rolled his eyes and groaned as he listened but his partner was riveted, hanging on the bandit's every word. "What did you _do_?" He asked breathlessly like a small child. "What happened next?"
The storyteller went on with his tale, emboldened by the attention. "The shutters were being broken to pieces by the blows of the creatures. And their claws sheared through the wood. The ticket man was reloading his repeater when one of the beasts stuck its snout through the window and took the man's arm in its jaws and with one bite snapped it clean off. _Snap!_ It _ate_ the arm! So much screaming, so much blood. I was out of bullets and was going for the fallen _vaquero_ 's gunbelt to get ammo to reload but at the same time keep my head down and duck the bullets his friend was shooting at the monsters, and that's when the damn kerosene lamp fell and the place caught fire. We had no choice but to flee."
Alvarez began to weep, recalling the horror that followed. "The rest happened very fast. As soon as we were out the door, one of the monsters grabbed the little girl right from her mother's arms in his teeth and swallowed the child in a single gulp. Then _su pobre madre_ had her head ripped off. Another monster tore her headless body in half like a rag doll with meat inside. Everywhere, it was fur and claws and blood and arms and legs flying and guts all over the ground. I just ran into the darkness, _rápido como mis pies se iría_ , to get away. Something bit my arm, crushed down on it like a bear trap right to the bone so I shot my last bullet into the red mouth and the jaws released me. I fled into the desert and heard the others' dying screams behind me and...this is all I remember, _senors_. When I awoke I was lying in the desert. And later you found me."
There was a clap. Then another. The Federale behind him was clapping his hands slowly and deliberately. "That's quite a story." The thin man nodded at his partner, impressed.
"Wolfmen." The fat one fingered one of his chins. "That explains everything."
"Yes, yes! _Gracias a Dios_ you believe me!"
The cop leaned forward across the table, gaze dripping with contempt. "We did not say we believe you. In fact, we think you are a lying thieving piece of shit trying to bullshit us to save your sorry ass. Do you take us for fools?"
"Do you think we are assholes?"
"I think he's calling us _culos_."
"Insulting an officer is a crime. _Muy malo._ We can lock you up for a very long time. A very, very long time."
Alvarez did not like the way the obese cop was fingering the bag of silver. Or the knowing looks being exchanged between both the dirty _policia federal._ The fat, lazy Federale took a swig of whisky from the bottle. "Maybe I should ride over to the stagecoach junction and see if this _hombre_ 's story checks out." He scratched his stomach. "There must be bodies all over the place, _si_?"
"If the vultures haven't eaten them," the thief said, worried no evidence might remain.
The thin one yawned, bored. "We'll go in the morning. My ass hurts and I want to take a nap. Then we'll get drunk and play cards."
"But _senors_ , please! _Mi brazo_!" Alvarez pleaded, the throbbing agony of his mangled arm getting worse. Stabbing pain traveled through his shoulders and chest, like a hideous infection spreading through his bloodstream. _"Dijiste que me recibiría un medico."_
The thin Federale clicked his teeth. "Tsk. Tsk. _Si_ , that bite is very bad. It already looks badly infected. I smell the gangrene." He sniffed like a rat. "You don't want _el doctor_ , amigo. He will just take the arm. Cut it off."
"I need a doctor. We had a deal."
"You are a hard _hombre_ , a _bandito_ , tough it up!" The Federales laughed at each other, gold teeth glinting, and the thief understood there would be no doctor and he would die in jail. The _policia_ _federal_ meant to keep the silver and when he died from gangrene tomorrow or the next day they would bury his corpse in a shallow grave where the body would never be found. This was Mexico and that was how things were done.
"Fuck your mothers."
"Lock him up."
The thief was grabbed by the collar. The thin cop hauled him into the next room, a small chamber with two jail cells side by side. There were two occupants. An old sleeping drunk under a weathered brown sombrero and orange poncho was curled on the cot in the far cell. A filthy, muscle-bound laborer stood in the closer pen. The cop pulled out his keys and unlocked that cell, shoving Alvarez inside.
When he hit the floor, the shooting pain in his arm nearly caused him to pass out. When the thief looked up, his cellmate was giving him the stink eye. Alvarez was too wounded to resist as he felt the rough hands rummage through his pockets, stealing his last few pesos.
Alvarez was born poor and knew he would die in a pauper's grave.
The _borracho_ stirs in his cell.
The drunk old man is eighty-five, dressed in rags, sombrero resting over his face on the hard cot that hurts his brittle bones. But it is not the _clang_ of the next cell door slamming shut that awakens him, although he is a light sleeper.
He knows by his smell the new prisoner is one of _them_.
The Men Who Walk Like Wolves.
The bum has met them before, long ago, in a life spent in the shitholes of Durango. While the old man's eyes aren't good and his hearing is failing, his nose works just fine and the distantly remembered stench comes back to him instantly. Once smelled, the odor of the werewolf is never forgotten.
He tilts the sombrero back from his eyes and studies the newcomer.
The wretch lies on the stained cement floor where the Federale who now locks the cell has brutally pushed him. His wound, a savage raking bite on his arm, festers yellow pus through the bandage the _policia_ have carelessly applied. That explains it. The unfortunate has suffered the bite of the werewolf, and already the curse is in his bloodstream. Hence the smell, the acrid angry tang of bad blood, in the aged drunk's nostrils.
The attack must have happened last night, the _borracho_ reckons, for the moon was full then as it will be again this evening. Casting a glance through his cell window, the old man sees the lowering sun in the sky. He knows in scant hours when the moon has risen the cell bars will no more hold the werewolf than tissue paper.
It will eat every human being in the jail.
After ripping them limb from limb.
Except the _borracho_.
No, it will not touch him.
For he has protection.
Even now, he feels its protuberance inside his worn boot beneath his foot, the obstruction pressing against the sweaty flesh of the arch. He always keeps it while traveling in these parts as a precaution. Nobody, not even the Federales who have him in custody, ever search his boots.
Few men trapped with a werewolf would see that as an opportunity, the old man muses. But if his eighty-five years have taught him anything, it is that any situation can be turned to a man's advantage and in every problem there is an opportunity.
One must just have patience.
So the drunk bides his time and sits and watches the poor soul in the cell adjacent, waiting for nightfall. Then, he knows, everything will happen quickly. The hours pass slowly.
The _borracho_ has his plan all figured out.
Those _hijo de puta_ Federales have kept him locked up behind bars for the past month, intending to let him rot and die here. They make no secret of it; the corrupt _policia_ laugh when they tell him he will die in jail many times over recent days, tossing him table scraps to eat and not changing his overflowing slop bucket even once. Just because he had been drunk and taken a clumsy swing at one of them. The _borracho_ had been riding through the area minding his own business when the bastards had accosted him and asked if he had money. Had he admitted he did, the old man knew those _cabronas_ would have stolen it. When he said he had none, they arrested him for vagrancy. That's when he took the swing. An old man deserves respect. These filthy crooks in their unwashed uniforms are nothing more than pigs, but he is their prisoner. Until right this very moment, the _borracho_ had resigned himself to die in this tiny, stinking cell.
Now he has hope.
In the other cage, the laborer who robbed the new prisoner stands by the bars counting a few paltry coins in his hand. The thief is smirking but the old man knows when the moon rises he will lose that smirk and those coins will be on the eyes of his corpse, if his eyes remain in his skull at all.
The last red glimmer of twilight fades on the windowsill.
The drunk stares without blinking through the bars into the next-door cell. The two men inside are now dim shadows in the bluish glow of moonlight. His eyes are not very good anyway, so he hears it first.
A choked cry of pain and surprise.
The figure of the wounded prisoner suddenly goes stiff, and then suffers a body spasm.
More sounds.
A sickening _snap_ of bone.
A moist rending of flesh.
"What's wrong with you?" shouts the other convict, his darkened figure leaping to his feet to back away in alarm from the cellmate beginning to thrash spasmodically and froth at the mouth.
"Help, oh God help me!" The afflicted prisoner shrieks in agonized, awful high-pitched cries. Terrible noises follow...bones popping, skin tearing, rapid panting, the bristly sound of thick hair pushing through pores. Pale moonlight casts the seizuring convict's shadow across the floor and the shape begins to distort and distend, the arms and legs twisting and elongating in black exaggerated silhouettes.
In the next cell, the _borracho_ has seen it all before. So he just watches. And makes himself ready.
_"Help me oh God Madre Dios!"_
"Shut the hell up in there!" booms the voice of one of the Federales in the other room.
"Hey, something's wrong with him!" yells the now genuinely frightened cellmate. "Get in here!"
"I said shut up!"
The jail is a deafening cacophony of unnatural sounds; scratching, pounding, flaying, splintering, smashing and splattering. In the lightless gloom, the shadowy figure of the new prisoner is changing, losing all human form, transfiguring in violently grotesque stages of anatomical distortion; becoming something _other_. To the old man's failing vision, this is all half-seen in shadow; quick glimpses of wiry fur and stretching flesh as the wildly flailing figure falls in and out of a thin slash of moonlight. Leg bones _crack_ and reshape into haunches. The man's chest buckles inward with a sound like breaking chicken bones to become long and tapered. Talons punch out his fingertips like blunt knives through canvas. By now, the other convict is in a total panic, pressing against the bars, screaming to the _policia federal_ to release him from the cell and the thing he is trapped with. "Get me out of here! You hear me?"
In the dark shadows behind him, the pitiful wretch suffers through the last of his tortured transformation. His voice changes, becoming guttural, hoarse and animalistic. _"Oh God Oh God it hurts it hurts it Oh GGGGGGGGGOO-OOOOOOGGGG-GGHHHHHHHH!!!"_ The words slur into the growling roar of a beast.
A bushy tail flicks into the moonlight.
Frothing saliva foams over jagged white canine fangs, impossibly huge, bursting through gums.
The cell is small.
There is nowhere to run.
A new bad smell arises as the cellmate shits his pants, cowering in the corner as the abomination in the cage with him grows enormous, expanding to fill the cramped space as it towers against the ceiling. The silhouette of the furry chest becomes concave and narrow as a dog rib cage in a _crick-a-crack_ of a spinal cord regenerating. The skull beneath the skin of the half-human face discombobulates as jawbones dislocate and break, an extended feral wolf-like snout punching out like a clenched fist. Hunched against the roof, the monster stands eight feet tall.
The werewolf is fully born and it wants meat.
The creature falls on the other man in the cell and tears his head and half his shoulder off the torso in a grisly wet splurge of chomped flesh with a whiplash _crack_ of severed spine. It hungrily swallows the mouthful in one gulping bite.
This only whets its appetite.
The old man holds his sombrero in front of his face to shield himself from the tornado of gore and shorn flesh that explodes through the bars as the wolfman rips the convict's carcass apart in its huge talons and teeth, chewing and swallowing, reveling with feral abandon in the bloodthirsty carnage. Gallons of blood blast over the ceiling and gush down the iron bars of the abattoir of a cell like shiny black paint, splashing the sombrero but the only thing the old man feels is regret that his beloved hat is ruined for it has been with him for as long as he can remember.
All is going to plan.
It takes those damn fool Federales long enough to get there.
But now they stand in the doorway, eyes like saucers, frozen in place as they witness the monster filling the cage to bursting. The wolfman is covered with shags of flesh and ropes of eviscerated intestine, a severed half-chewed human arm in its gory mouth.
The old man does not move a muscle, even though the werewolf is mere feet from him. It has not seen or smelled him yet.
It just noticed the _policia_.
_Wait for it_ , he tells himself over and over.
One of the ignorant cops fumbles his pistola out of its holster and opens fire on the creature behind the bars, the bullets hammering it back, as the other officer runs to the office and quickly returns with a bolt action rifle that he has to load and fire one big round at a time as if any of those bullets do any good.
They simply punch holes through the monster's chest that quickly heal.
And piss it off.
Inflamed by the sting of the bullets and hungry for more flesh, the werewolf leaps at the bars and the men jump back, bathed in sweat as they clumsily reload. The monster's slavering jaws stretch impossibly wide and it emits a petrifying roar of frustration and fury. Clenching the cage in its talons, the creature yanks and jerks with all its incredible strength, trying to pry the cell door loose.
_Those bars will not hold_. The old man smiles to himself.
_You Federales should have run while you had the chance._
_Werewolves are above your pay grade._
But no, the dumb cops feel foolishly secure with more bullets in their guns and they blast the monster again and again through the bars. The gunshots are ear-splitting in the enclosed space, along with the roars of the wolfman. Muzzleflashes ignite the total darkness of the room like lightning bolts, revealing the gigantic, hairy, haunched, fanged creature in strobing staccato flashes. The smoke-thick air stinks of gunpowder, cordite, coppery blood and human bile and excrement. The _borracho_ covers his nose as he huddles in his cell, watching the show. The bullets take chunks of hair and skin off the beast in the cage, so out of its mind with fury its psychotic eyes bulge in mad swirls of red as it uses the talons of its massive paws wrapped around the bars to tug them free of the cement foundations.
Then the bullets stop.
The cops' guns are empty.
It is too late to run but they try anyway.
They get maybe three feet.
The werewolf tears the cell door off the frame and pounces out, bringing both men down with two sledgehammer paws into a pool of darkness in the corner of the corridor. There are sounds of screaming and arms and legs being torn out of their sockets and skulls being crushed and rib cages splintered and bitten into amidst all the growling, slobbering and chomping. It is a hard way for the men to die, but the _borracho_ has no pity for them.
The old timer guesses the creature will finish this meal in less than a minute and be looking for seconds.
It will see him then in the cell.
And break through the bars to get him.
This is the plan.
It is time.
The old man pulls off his right boot and dumps its contents out, which _clank_ on the darkened floor.
The object glints in a ray of moonbeam.
A two-shot Derringer pistol.
Picking the gun up, the _borracho_ snaps the twin barrels open to expose the two sterling silver bullets he has loaded there. _Clicking_ the chambers shut, the old man squeezes into the corner of the cot, waiting for the monster to break into his cell.
The sounds of the feast cease. The revolting wet _slurping_ of the wolfman lapping up the last morsels in the gloom of the jail.
The old man whistles.
A sudden angry growl of surprise and the monster rears in the darkness, a towering shape blacker than the other shadows. The silhouette of the huge canine head rotates, nostrils sniffing.
He whistles again, letting the wolfman know he is there. The old man understands the smell of booze on him has disguised his scent. But now the monster is alerted to his presence. Its red eyes glow like coals and fix on the _borracho_ in the cell, noticing him for the first time. With a deafening throaty roar, the creature launches itself at the old man's jail door with both talons, grasping and wrenching on the bars in berserker rage, tail swishing. It uses its ferocious razor-rowed teeth to try to bite through the iron rods, so mad and unquenchable is its appetite.
"Come and get me!" the chuckling old man taunts, egging the beast on.
It is halfway through the cage.
Readying himself, knowing he will only have two shots and mere seconds to place them, the old man raises the Derringer and settles the notches of the short muzzle on the broad furry chest of the werewolf ripping out the bars of his cell.
Patience.
_Paciencia._
The wild-eyed monster pulls at the bars, prying them loose, the metal buckling against the crumbling cement of the fixture.
_Esperar._
Wait.
_CRRR-RRAAANK!_ Three iron rods break free of the ceiling as the wolfman tears the cell door loose and shoulders through the gap like a hairy battering ram, bending the bars as it squeezes through, claws swiping a foot from the face of the old man with the pointed gun. Its snapping bear-trap jaws clamp shut so close the _borracho_ feels the spray of its foul spit on his face and smells the hot stench of its gullet. Then there is the sound of tortured metal as the whole cell door collapses inward and the werewolf is inside the cage.
Now.
_Ahora!_
The old man fires his Derringer twice, pulling both little triggers, putting two silver bullets clean through the werewolf's heart before it gets another step.
The wolfman drops in its tracks, instantly dead.
As the lifeless body hits the floor, there is a flurry of movement as immediately the monster's physiognomy twists and reforms back into the crumpled figure of a dead naked human being on the ground.
The old man rises at last.
Everyone in the jail is dead but him.
His cell door is open, broken off the hinges.
He walks through it a free man.
The luck of the drunk. Tonight, he vows to say a prayer to the moon, the patron saint of werewolves, for the good fortune she bestowed on him.
Stopping just long enough to do a few things before his departure, the old man __ is soon on his way. He rummages through the pockets of the Federales' remains and takes their wallets. Selecting two fresh rifles and two pistols from the gun rack in the office, he takes enough ammo to last him awhile. Three bottles of whisky are now his. The last thing the _borracho_ takes from the police station is the pouch of silver on the table that he stuffs in his pocket with the bullets. Then, selecting the strongest horse from the corral outside, he saddles up and rides west.
Chapter Three
The one called Tucker leaned back in the chair, put his dusty boots up, spurs clinking, and squinted out at the harsh Durango desert that lay beyond the porch of the rundown cantina. One big empty. The sun was just rising, already blinding, and he dipped his hat brim to shadow his face. It was going to be another hot damn day. The man was tall and lean, the shag of beard bare by the scar on his jaw but thick across the rest of his sunburned leathery face. He rolled a cigarette and lit it between thick fingers, with cauliflower knuckles broken several times on others' faces, and sucked in the good hurt of the bad tobacco. His Colts hung heavy in his holsters. Flies buzzed in the air.
He didn't like the way the peasant was staring at him.
The Mexican had been there for an hour standing across the street, sizing him up. Usually these villagers kept their distance, keeping their eyes and heads down, avoiding trouble, but this little brown man had been looking at him with interest for a while now. Maybe they didn't get too many gunfighters around here, the bunghole of the earth.
Slapping an annoying fly on his cheek stubble, the gunfighter wiped the crushed insect off his palm on the wooden post, settling back in his chair with a creak of leather as he shifted his boots.
The dismal outpost was nestled in the desert flats one hundred twenty miles from Villahidalgo for travelers passing through on the Santa Maria Del Oro trail. It wasn't much, just a cantina, feed store, barn and a ramshackle corral. Tucker had his horse tethered there along with those his compatriots rode. The gunfighter had been here a week, lying low with the other two, planning their next move. He wondered how the hell he'd ended up here. The only other human beings he'd seen were the occasional Mexican farmers who rode through to purchase supplies for the few poor scattered villages throughout the area. None of the peasants had given him so much as a passing glance.
Until this one.
The brown man stood across the street from the cowboy, watching him sitting on the porch smoking his cigarette.
And this way they killed a few more minutes.
It was just a harmless peasant, Tucker decided, who didn't appear to be armed, though he didn't know that for sure. Unwashed wretch was covered with filth, his face smeared with caked mud, grime and sweat. The cowboy wondered if these people bathed, and this one was the dirtiest he had ever seen. By habit, the shootist gauged the possible threat this stranger might pose to him on this barren morning and how he would handle it. The peasant was alone. Impoverished as he clearly was, he may have recognized Tucker from the wanted posters and thought he would try for the reward to feed his family. He had no rifle but could possibly have a pistol under his baggy clothes. Might be he had a knife or machete there instead. If the loiterer stepped within ten feet of him, Tucker would draw his gun. The man would be dead in the dirt before he drew down. The gunfighter was fast, very very fast. That was why he'd lived to age thirty-four.
The lazy minutes passed. Tucker finished his smoke, pitched it with a flick of his fingers, and crossed his hands over his tight stomach, fingers inches from his Colt Peacemakers in the holsters slung from his chaps. The peasant didn't move.
Squinting up the street, he saw Fix sauntering up the block in his suit and bowler hat, pistols at his sides. Thin as a rail, a black mustache on his face, beady eyes that didn't miss a thing, the other man gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment.
"Who's the sombrero?"
Tucker shrugged. "Been giving me the eyeball last hour."
Fix regarded the peasant with a squinty black bullet eye. Quicker than any man Tucker knew to size up a threat, he was the fastest to dispatch it. The other cowboy was small, didn't move much and was a man of few words, but he struck with the lethal speed of a scorpion. Fix took a chaw off a plug of tobacco and spat, squinting at the Mexican. "Looking for a handout?" he said.
"Mebbe."
"Could be looking to get hisself the reward on us."
"Mebbe."
"Where the hell's Bodie?"
"Sleepin' it off."
"Right."
"Mexican's still there."
"Yup."
"We're flat broke. I got three dollar."
"Then you're holding all the money."
"The hell is Bodie?"
A sound of something heavy falling, a vulgar curse and muttered grumbling answered his question. There was more banging, more cursing. Tucker and Fix turned their heads to see the third of their number, Bodie, stumbling around the side of the cantina. The Swede was a massive man, six foot five and thick as a buck and rail fence. His face was a square boulder set with sleepy, slow eyes and laugh lines around a mouth quick to smile. A lock of blond, uncombed hair fell along his face. With a broad, cracked grin, Bodie leaned against the wall beside Tucker's chair. He tightened his cartridge belt around his waist, from which swung twin Remington Army revolvers. "Boys, my head's comin' apart. Right shorely it is."
"Hair that bit ya." Fix tossed Bodie a silver flask. Bodie took a swig.
"We need money, boys," Tucker said, looking out at the sun lifting just above the horizon. He hated being broke, and this had been a bad spell. The gunfighter needed to make some cash quick or starve and he'd been considering their options. Most promising was a small cattle drive they'd ridden past in Juarez. Two days' ride and Tucker, Fix and Bodie could catch up with the four wranglers, mostly kids, who wouldn't stand in the way long of gunmen the ilk of he and his partners. They could either tie the wranglers up or shoot them, then haul the stolen cattle down to one of the many ranches near Mexico City and sell them for five bucks a head. It wouldn't be the first time they'd resorted to thieving. He didn't like it, but a man had to make a buck.
"Scalps is selling for a good price." Fix used his Bowie knife blade to clean some dirt from under a fingernail.
"We don't do that," Tucker whispered.
"Maybe we should start."
"I don't trade in no hair." Bodie shook his head in disgust.
"Me neither."
"Well we better figure our situation out and get a plan, or we're going to be eating sombrero over yonder."
"Plan is saddle up. Time to move. Can't stay around here." Tucker grunted.
"Thought we were going to lie low until them Federales moved on."
"They may have already done."
"We don't know that."
"Point is, we just can't sit around this hole rottin' away forever."
"Bodie's right. We're getting lead in our ass. Man's gotta keep moving." They were men of action and do or die they needed to saddle up.
"That peasant's gettin' on muh nerves. What's he doin', just standing there?"
The three big tough gunslingers lounged on the porch of the cantina and looked at the Mexican.
He was coming across the street toward them.
Finally they would learn what he was after.
As he came in their direction, the peasant doffed his sombrero, kowtowed and submissive as a dog who'd been beat too much. He stopped at the edge of the porch, where the gunmen fingered their triggers. "Please, _senors_ , may I speak to you?"
Tucker fired up another rolled cigarette and targeted the stranger with a glowering stare through the fire of the match. "What do you want?"
The humble Mexican peasant stood before them, sunburnt head bowed, holding his straw hat contritely. He was in his late teens with soft features, baggy clothes and a quiet voice. "We are poor, we have no money to pay," he said. "They have killed our women and children. This is not the worst of it, _senors_. They have taken over the church. In our village, our church was Santa Tomas, but now the people call it Santa Sangre. Saint Blood. Those who have come, they drink our blood, eat our flesh, they are men that walk like wolves. Will you help us, please?"
The gunfighter Tucker looked at the other two gunslingers, spat in the dust and spun the cylinder of his revolver. "What's in it for us?"
"Silver."
"Thought you said you didn't have no money."
"It is the silver in the church. Plates. Statues. A fortune, _senor_."
"It belongs to the church."
"The church of Santa Sangre now belongs to them, _senor_."
"So we kill them for you, we take the silver, that the deal?"
"You will need the silver. You will need it to kill them, _senor_. You must melt it down into bullets that you shoot through their hearts. It is the only way to destroy the werewolf. What silver is left after you kill them, you may keep."
"How many?"
"Many."
"We'll think about it."
"But you must leave now. Tonight is the full moon."
Tucker studied his spurs, then looked laconically sideways at his comrades.
Bodie shrugged.
Fix clicked his teeth, which meant fine.
None of the three gunfighters bought the Mexican's story.
Except the part that there was a church and it had silver.
If it was there, it was there for the taking.
Tucker rose to his feet and grinned down at the peasant. "Hell, we got nothing better to do today."
Without further discussion, the shootists ambled over the corral for their horses. The peasant fetched his own from behind the barn. They all swung into their saddles.
The four riders rode out.
The length of fabric tightly tied around her upper torso, flattening her large breasts, made her bosom itch beneath the canvas shirt. The cloth was coming loose in the up and down motion from the horse. She wished she'd tightened it back by the cantina, worried her bind would come off and concealed tits bounce, giving her away. The girl felt dirty and squalid and yearned for a bath, but the filthier she was the better. Before riding into the outpost, she smeared mud and dirt all over her face to help disguise the womanly contours of her features, and the grit was now caked with crud, but so be it. The three gunfighters did not know she was a girl. She wanted to keep it that way. These hard men must not learn her sex if she was to keep her virtue.
Her name was Pilar.
The four riders galloped across the arid Durango desert plain. They slowed the horses every few miles, then spurred them on again, pacing their animals against the brutal heat beginning to bear down. They'd need to make time now, because the horses would be exhausted and slower by the time noon hit, the sun a kiln overhead, and their progress would be impeded. It would take hours to prepare for the battle ahead and they had to reach the village by noon to be ready by nightfall.
The gunfighters' horses were big and hers was small. It was a simple, scrawny mustang from the humble stables in her poor town, the best they had. Her small ankles kept rubbing against the ribs sticking out of her pony. The animal had not been properly broken and kept tossing its head against the bit in its mouth, but she held her reins firm in her small soft fists and maintained control of the mount. It must not throw her and run off. Her life and that of her entire village depended on Pilar getting these men there and she must not fail. She had never known such a burden or felt so alone. Again and again, as the girl rode, she prayed quietly to herself that she and her warriors would arrive in time and in one piece. God must not abandon her in their time of need.
The sound of sixteen hooves thundered across the parched desert and scrub. Pilar kept her horse in the lead, following the tracks of the trail she made riding in a few hours ago. Her ears were good. Behind her back, she heard the men talking to one another, keeping their voices low but not low enough, likely figuring she did not understand them, but she did. The Tennessee missionary who had been their village's reverend had seen to that, teaching her how to read and speak English from childhood.
"The Mexican says it's a three-hour ride to Santa Sangre," the strong one was saying.
"It's mebbe mid morning."
"You buy this Mexican's story?"
"Not a word."
"Except the silver part."
"And we're going to steal the whole damn thing."
What did she expect, wondered Pilar. They were men of the world, susceptible to greed, yet something in her trusted that they would do the right thing when the time came. To come face to face with the monsters would make anyone kill them. Have patience and fortitude, she reminded herself as the saddle slapped her sore thighs; these men could not be any worse that what had come to her village.
Her only worry was them discovering she was a girl and that they would rape her before they reached town. She was a virgin, and these were dangerous men who would take her virtue if they knew, because men such as these did as such men do. But right now, her secret was safe.
"Hey, Pablo. Ain't _sangre_ the Mexican word for blood?" The tall, handsome one she had first observed was speaking to her.
" _Si_ ," she called back, lowering her voice to a manly timbre.
"Why the heck you go and name your church something like that?"
"The name of our church was changed to Santa Sangre because of the terrible thing that has happened there."
The same one she first laid eyes on in the town spoke roughly as he rode up beside her, leather chaps squeaking and spurs clinking as his knees clenched the saddle.
"Okay, Pancho. We want the whole damn story, no bullshit. What the hell is going on in your town?"
"The werewolves changed the name of our church. It is they who called it Santa Sangre, in honor of their God."
"Start from the beginning."
They all slowed their horses to a trot so the frothed, lathered animals could catch their breath and the men could hear. The sun now hung at nine o'clock, rising ever higher, burning like a white bullet hole in a slate sky. They had three hours to make Santa Sangre by noon.
On the long hot ride, the peasant told the gunmen her tale...
_Remember, Pilar, remember it all._
_Every detail of the horror._
_These men must know so they can be ready. _
_Oh Pilar, last month seems like a lifetime ago._
_So many friends gone._
_The way they died._
_The town a shell. _
_My home, hell on earth._
_I don't want to remember, don't want to think back and weep because only women cry and that would give myself away, but tell the tale I must, so these fearsome men believe what they are up against. _
_That long first night, bracing the shutters of our windows closed with both hands to keep out the howling so loud it shakes the boards under my palms, coming from everywhere, everywhere..._
_The village was warm earlier that evening and everyone was on the streets as I ended the lesson and told the children to run home. The little ones are laughing. Small Pablo needs a bath. Tiny Maria is so pretty with the bow in her hair. They gather their books and get up to leave my classroom as I erase the chalkboard. The sky is red. I step out the door onto the dirt and smell the dust and mesquite, straw and dung of the fine evening air. The smell of home. The road passes through the huts and corrals and my farmer neighbors in sombreros and ponchos ride by on burros and horses, their carts full of hay and sheep. I smile at my friends. The church bells ring, and I look up the hill to see the steeple of Santa Tomas watching over us. _
_I am almost home and listen to the coyotes yip in the desert, their familiar high-pitched, keening yelps echoing near and far, front and behind. We must bring the dogs in tonight. The coyotes stop their calling, as if frightened. It was then, one month ago today, when our town first heard the baying howls out in the mesas. How I remember the pale near full moon that hung in the skies, so huge, so white, the color of rotten milk. Out in the fields, I see two farmers my age, Manuel and Roja, tending their meager crops. They whirl at a terrible sound and look far out into the hills, eyes wide in fear. The howling is so loud it shakes the ground, a cry like wolves, but bigger and much, much worse. Roja drops his rake and rushes back to the village. Such commotion in the square. Everyone is rushing to their huts, tying off their horses, grabbing their wives and children, and hurrying inside their homes. _
_Yes, good, the three dangerous gunmen riding with me are listening closely now, leaning in their saddles to hear, eyes glinting with interest, and I have their attention. _
_Mama!_
_I flee home and as I run past the other huts I look through the open doors and windows being shuttered and bolted and see throughout the village the families huddled fearfully in their hearths. Over there Gabriel and Maria peer nervously out their window into the dark and empty square, and there, the frightened eyes of Jose duck down through the window of the next hut. The dogs in the town bark feverishly until the howls grow too loud and even the strongest dog cowers. When I reach my place I bolt the door and window and stay with Mama. In her eyes was a fear I'd never seen. _
_"Como?" I ask._
_"Antiguo unos," she whispers. "Hombres lobos." _
_I had seen the pictures in the cave on the hill the ancient ones drew when the moon was young, telling the legend of the men who walked like wolves, but it was a children's tale, and I did not believe such foolishness, so reckless was I. They had returned. Maybe they had never left. _
_The door and windows we shut with heavy wood and iron bolts, but we could hear, oh could we hear. The roaring outside the town tightening around us like a noose. The plates shake in the kitchen. It sounds as terrible as if they are right outside, but they are still in the hills. At last I can stand sitting still no more and must know what is out there. Over my mother's pleas, I pry her hands from my dress and rush to the window, pulling back the bolt over the slot that my father had built just large enough to stick the snout of a gun through. I press my eye to the opening and first just see the darkness so dense all is shadow. Why does this nearly full moon, so large and awful, cast no light? I make out the bumps of the other huts. Big, rearing shapes in the stalls where the horses rise on their hind legs in terror, their eyes white in the gloom bulging with terror. The howls from the unseen ones hurt my ears through the door slot, but I can also hear the whinnying and pounding hoofs of the panicked horses pawing ground, and the bleating of the pigs and the sheep although I cannot see their stalls. Yet the streets are empty, as my eye adjusts to the darkness. Our village huddles in fear. The moon hangs like a great silver platter, more omnipresent than before. Out in the mesas, the howling persists, trapping us. _
_The hours pass and men of the village gather their rifles and stand now outside their houses, protecting their wives and young from what is to come. We pray for it to be soon, we want it to be over. The men's eyes are like saucers as the night moves on. Each are within view of the others, and they make hand signals, pointing, patting their palms down; wait for it, do not move from where you stand is their meaning._
_Still they do not come._
_The monsters announce themselves in the hills but choose to remain concealed, staking their territory. The snarling is a bloody thunder that shake the ground to let us know they could take any of us anytime they wanted, conjuring awful pictures of what they look like that are nothing compared to the horror of when finally we lay eyes on them._
_But it is not to be this night._
_We wait, sleeplessly, quivering in terror and the howls never stop, never relent. _
_Remember, Pilar, the fear you knew then, it is in your voice now you tell your gunmen, and that is good, because they know you tell the truth. Look at their eyes now, in the saddles alongside you, exchanging glances with one another, disbelieving and believing and not sure what to believe. _
_Keep talking, the small one with the white-handled guns says. _
_I realize I have stopped speaking, the emotions too great and my throat choked with dust. But I have not cried, not yet. They must hear the whole tale. I continue my story and go on about that first terrible sleepless night, how we stood awake and counted the hours and the seconds with the men holding their guns and the women clutching their children until dawn broke, and by then we were tired and drained with fear and our nerves were raw. This was the werewolves' plan, do you see, senors? They were tiring us out, grinding us down, robbing us of rest before they descended for the kill, driving fear into us as a picador spears a bull to make him weak for the matador. The howling ended at sunrise, and with daylight somehow we knew we were safe. A bleached-out sun rose over our meek village. Some said they were gone. Some said they would be back._
_Two farmers walked into the hills, herding their sheep. I was told they saw a trail of blood and scattered rags leading into the brush. My townsmen followed the blood trail fearfully, and what they encountered caused them to drop to their knees and cross themselves before they buckled over and vomited. They brought him back in a bag. The mutilated remains of Manuel torn limb from limb and eaten by something much more powerful than a coyote._
_We knew it was no coyote, senors._
Chapter Four
It was the craziest damn yarn Tucker ever heard.
He'd have disbelieved every word if he hadn't heard it from the peasant's own lips. The simple Mexican's terror was real. It made the cowboy wonder what they were going up against. He wasn't exactly sure, but his gut was they were going to earn whatever money they were going to make.
The sun was now forty-five degrees above them, burning down mercilessly in the iron sky. They'd been on the trail for about an hour now and were feeling the heat of the day. Across the plain, the three gunfighters and the peasant kept at a brisk trot as the Mexican paused the story to sip from his canteen, shuddering at the harrowing memories. Tucker exchanged glances with Fix and Bodie and from the uneasy expressions of his cohorts saw they were just as unnerved by what they'd heard.
The little man decided the horse had had enough rest, dug his sandals into the flanks of his brown mustang and urged it into canter, and the other riders followed suit.
It was as if the devil were snapping at the peasant's heels as he rode hard for a town three hours somewhere ahead. Hooves pounded the parched rocks and pebbles of the trail, shrouding them in a cloak of dust that made the figures of the horses and riders tall silhouettes. All around them stretched unbroken desert until the far-off distant turquoise and purple ridges of the tan and dun Sola Rosa mountains.
Fifteen minutes later they spotted a gleaming blue thread in a chaparral-strewn arroyo south of them.
Tucker yelled ahead over the loud clop of the hooves at the hunched back of the hard-charging peasant. "There's a river yonder south! Let's water the horses!" He had to shout it three times at the top of his lungs before the brown man's startled, haunted face looked back over his shoulder. The Mexican nodded as he tugged on his reins and reared around his horse to ride back next to the slowing mounts of the others.
"Whoa. Whoa," Bodie said, patting the side of his stallion's sweat-soaked neck.
"Take a break," growled Fix, who never smiled.
"This was some bad idea," complained the Swede, wiping his sopping hair with his filthy Stetson. "It's crazy hot out here."
"Stop yer bitchin'. It ain't even noon. Then you'll see hot." Fix spat a loogie of tobacco juice.
"That's why we ride in the afternoon and evening and always done since we got south of the border," griped Bodie.
"Mexican wants to make his town by noon, and that's the deal we made and it's what we're gonna do. Suck it up," Tucker bossed. "Right now, let's wash these nags down before they keel."
Tucker rode out in the lead and they negotiated their way over the uneven ground until they came up a small incline leading past the cactus and boulders down into the draw. A creek trickled past over the gleaming dark damp stones.
Hauling off his hat and hunkering down by the edge of the creek, Tucker felt that dull ache in his leg from the bullet he took a year ago in Arizona. They pulled the slug out but the pain was getting worse, a little each month. How long was he going to be able to ride, he wondered, getting an uncomfortable intimation of his own mortality. Cupping both dirty weathered hands, he splashed some water on his face and enjoyed the refreshing, bracing chill of the fresh creek. The drops trickled down his chin and with one hand he spooned a few sipfuls into his parched lips. Then he dunked his canteen, turning the steel mouth toward the flow of the river, and watched the bubbles percolate up into the rapids. With a grunt, he stood and straightened.
Squinting, the big gunfighter peered to where Fix and Bodie stood chatting a few yards away by their horses that were tethered to the tree batting their noses against each other. Bodie had fired up a cigar and was blowing a cloud of acrid smoke. Just then, the Swede's colt's dangling member blasted a huge yellow jet of urine explosively onto the ground and splashed his owner's legs and boots, resulting in a burst of cussing and flailing from Bodie, who punished the horse by punching it square in the jaw with a clenched club fist. The cowboy hurt his hand more than the horse and yowled, shaking his fingers and dancing around hugging his fist. Fix thought this was funny, and buckled over convulsively in laughter, slapping his knee. Bodie tossed his piss-drenched cigar onto the ground and stomped it to pieces, stalking away, while Fix chortled even harder, until he began to cough and spit. Tucker wasn't laughing.
The Mexican was gone.
Tensing, Tucker saluted his hand over his brow to block the sun and scanned the area this side of the draw. No sign of the peasant. About to take a walk to start looking, he caught a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. The peasant rose from some drab green mesquite bushes, tying the rope belt around his britches. The small figure started walking back toward the arroyo, keeping his head down, and Tucker eyeballed the smooth, graceful movements he made. This was the prettiest man he'd ever seen, the gunfighter remarked to himself. That brown skin was soft and unblemished even for those people, the lips were soft and full, and the peasant's smell was sweet and appealing for a man even after at least a day's ride without bathing. The body odor of the peasant reminded him more of the Mexican whores he'd been with over the last few months. If Tucker didn't know better...
The Mexican jumped down the row of small boulders to the rubble near the draw and walked to his horse, untethering its hemp bridle and leading it to the creek, where the unkempt mustang ducked its big head and drank.
Tucker kept his eyes fixed on the peasant, watching the way the man tenderly stroked and kissed the horse with an almost feminine gentility to his movements.
Yes, if he didn't know better...
Damn.
"You believe this Mexican's story?" Fix whispered.
Tucker didn't notice that his partners had walked up beside him, grouping close and whispering out of earshot of their new saddle buddy.
"The Mexican's a fool, either ignorant or crazy," replied Bodie.
"A fool and his money are easily parted," Tucker stated flatly. Passing a flask of whisky, they took turns taking pulls and watching the peasant in rags sitting on a rock praying desperately to a cross on a string of beads in his hands. "And it's easy money, boys."
"Damn easy."
"I'll drink to that." Bodie chuckled and swigged the hooch.
"Go easy on that. It's got to last us," Fix scolded.
"I feel sorry for the sad sunufabitch." The Swede belched with the smell of corn.
Not that sorry, Tucker observed, seeing the opportunistic glint in his saddlemate's blue eyes. Himself, he was having his doubts about the rightness of robbing a sorry wretch like this Mexican. But he and his friends needed the money, and these were tough times. They had fallen hard, he ruminated, things having come to this.
A wave of self-doubt seemed to pass through all three men, who often thought the same thing at the same time. The gunfighters exchanged glances and shrugged it off. Time to act, not think.
By now it was late morning, and the riders had stopped to rest their horses in the shady mesquite ravine by the burbling creek long enough. Too easy to get lazy and dawdle, when there was work to be done. Tucker, Bodie and Fix wet down their animals one last time.
"We don't even know there _is_ any silver," Fix said.
They looked at each other. It was true.
Tucker shook his head, pondering, his brain masticating over the situation like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. "That town has come up against something, that's for damn sure. That wretch is scared spitless, anybody can see that. I say he's telling us the truth, or least what he thinks is. Likely, it's just bandits. But bad ones."
"I got no problem killing bandits," said Fix. "But we're keeping the silver. Our regular rounds should do them vermin right nicely." To accentuate his point, the thin, spare gunfighter drew out his pearl-handled Colt, flipped open the cylinder with a flick of his wrist, checked his bullets, peered down the barrel, shook the gun closed with a metallic _whirr_ and spun it backward on his finger with a blur of speed back into his holster.
"Then we keep all the silver." Bodie grinned. "Dumb peasants won't know the difference." He pulled his Winchester repeater out of his saddle holster and put it to his shoulder, eyeballing a distant target down the gunsight. His finger tightened on the trigger but he didn't fire, saving bullets.
The bad men drank to that. They swung back into their saddles.
Tucker stuck both boots in his stirrups and felt the beginning sting of saddle sores.
Across the arroyo the little Mexican peasant saw them mount up, giving them a nervous little wave as he tugged himself back up onto his own horse.
"Hy-Yahh!" Tucker yelled as he slapped his reins against his stallion's flanks. The other three riders charged after him up the forty-five-degree arroyo grade, powerful hooves kicking down some chaparral and stones. Fix's horse slipped and regained traction and then they were all four up and over the incline and galloping off toward the trail. Catching the peasant's gaze, Tucker nudged his jaw for him to ride ahead and lead the way, and filled with purpose, the Mexican retraced the trail of his hoof prints he had left heading into town.
They rode across the Durango plain in the heat of the day. A second ridge of mountains appeared beyond the first, brown in the flat light and spackled with green. The washed out sun had risen a few more degrees, and the day would get hotter yet before they reached their destination. And so the battery escort of hired gun killers flanked the hunched, determined brown man they accompanied. Everyone figured that their newly watered horses were refreshed enough to ride at full tilt for twenty minutes before they slowed again. The outfit was making good progress.
They all rode together up a small mountain trail of the first butte.
The humble peasant smiled with simple, pure faith at the three hard men riding along with him.
"You are good men, _senors_."
"You don't know nothing about us," Tucker said quietly.
"I do." The Mexican rode eagerly on ahead, out of earshot. "I do..."
The three bad men eyed him like coyotes.
"He don't know the half," uttered Fix.
"Like we aim to steal that silver, not waste it on no bullets," added Bodie humorlessly.
"That's for damn sure," Tucker said, half-convinced himself.
"Ignorant wretch is letting the wolf into the chicken coop and don't know no better." Fix spat tobacco juice onto a passing lizard and scattered it into the rocks.
Tucker considered the thin, skeletal gunfighter in the black suit and vest covered with dust. He'd ridden with Fix for three years and as long as he'd known him, the other gunfighter was the most pitiless man he had ever met. A good friend, who said what he meant, without question the fastest and deadliest shot of the bunch, but the man had no mercy towards people. John Fix had a fatalistic view of the human condition and his place in it. His tough-mindedness balanced off Bodie's impulsivity and Tucker's measured deliberateness. But Fix was a gunsel only, a man who dealt with things as they appeared in front of him, where he struck swiftly and without remorse. He lacked Tucker's own grasp of the big picture and habit of planning a few steps ahead, which was why Samuel Evander Tucker, late of Dodge City, was the group's unspoken but unchallenged leader. The three had rode together through the years simply because it seemed like the natural thing to do from the day they first met, never with any specific plan, and every day they seemed to make the decision anew to stick together. When they fought, when their guns came out, they were no longer three, but one, an invincible machine of flying lead, stinking gunpowder and blazing irons, and they killed and shot as one thing with six arms and legs and they never had to talk. These gunslingers were obviously bad men themselves, but they had been through a lot and often and were still alive. If you asked them why they still stuck together, each would have said the same thing.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
The shootists' rode side by side with the peasant across the dusty desert of Durango under the burning sun on the road to Santa Sangre. The full moon hung faint as a ghost in the cloudless sky on the horizon, like a portent.
The trail curved higher around the upper ridge, and the riders slowed to a trot as the horses trod over the uneven ground. The peasant rode in the lead, followed by Tucker, then Bodie, then Fix in steady single-file formation.
They all heard the sudden shrill castanet.
The Mexican's horse violently reared, front legs bicycling, eyes wide in alarm, whinnying in terror. Its rider emitted a high-pitched scream of surprise, coming out of the stirrups as the mustang rose up on its hind legs in panic. A coiled rattlesnake tensed on the ground directly ahead, the rattler a twitchy blur as it shook its upraised tail, brown and copper head raised, jaw extended, fangs bared to strike. The startled peasant's horse pitched him from the saddle, arms and legs flailing, where he landed hard on the ground, inches in front of the rattler. The snake's narrow head was right by his contorted face, fangs curled and deadly sharp as it struck with vital speed.
The head of the reptile disappeared in a fine red mist, the headless red meat of its body dropping in a limp coil on the ground before the Mexican heard the gunshot explode across the desert.
The peasant screamed like a girl.
Fix had got his pistol out, fanned and fired so blindingly fast his gun was back in his holster before the dead and headless snake hit the ground.
The viper's rattle castaneted a final stubborn time, then fell silent and still in the settling dust.
The Mexican rose to his hands and knees, wiping splattered snake muck from his cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes raised to meet the cowboys in the saddles above him.
All three of the gunfighters gaped, looking down at the peasant.
The Mexican's shirt had come loose in the fall, and two ripe, nude brown breasts toppled out. With a gasp, she scooped her big naked bosom back into her baggy top, eyes wide in embarrassment and fear.
Now they all knew.
He was a she and a very beautiful she.
"Hello," Bodie said, with a slow dawning grin.
"Howdy, ma'am," Tucker said. He tipped his hat with a wink.
Fix grinned. "Lady, you'd a showed us them melons before, you could have kept the damn silver."
The hard men laughed coarsely, and the girl flinched in shame and dread. The gunfighters had ridden their horses to surround her on all sides, blocking her escape. Sitting high in their saddles, they were threateningly silhouetted against the mid-morning sun, the white orb blinding behind the sharp outlines of their Stetsons. Pilar crawled on her hands and knees, cringing with fear, expecting the worst.
In his saddle, Tucker saw what a pretty woman they had been with all morning and understood he'd known her gender all along. The glimpse of her breasts had gotten him aroused. Her round, high, big brown-nippled tits bounced real pretty when she loaded them back under her shirt. No question, on all fours there on the ground, surrounded by the three cowboys, she was theirs for the taking and maybe they'd get a little bonus with the silver. Tucker's eyes narrowed to circumspect slits as he glanced first across to Fix sitting on his horse staring with sardonic bemusement down at the cowering girl. Then his gaze slid over to Bodie in his saddle and that hungry look as the Swede's hand passed by his crotch giving it a tug. Tucker smelt the heat of rutting in the air like blood in the water and knew that all three of them could be down on the ground taking turns if he merely gave the word. They were miles from civilization in the middle of the desert and there was nowhere to run and nobody to come to her aid if they descended on the girl and had their way with her. But as the seconds passed, pragmatically, he thought better of it. They could ravish her now, but that would set them back a few hours and the girl might lose her mind and refuse to take them to the silver. Better to get to the silver first, then they could pound that brown body as much as they wanted. If she was that good looking, there might be a lot more fruit in her town ripe for picking.
In his mind, Tucker had the sudden image of a pack of coyotes, the hateful filthy mangy cowardly scavenger dogs circling their prey, closing in for the kill. At night, the shootists often heard the musical chorus of yipping in the distant hills, soon replaced by the inevitable horrible high-pitched cries of some terrified dying small dog or animal the miserable scavengers would lure out into the hills and then surround to ambush and slaughter, tearing it limb from limb. As the three dangerous men on their big horses circled the exposed, frightened, cringing girl crouching on the ground, Tucker saw the predatory glint in his friends' eyes as lust burned in their loins and the smell of sexual heat filled the dusty air. He knew they were the coyotes, nothing more than the lowest varmints.
It had come to this, then.
They had fallen that far, sunk to their lowest, become animals.
"No," Tucker mumbled first to himself, then repeated as an order he issued with quiet authority. "No, not like this, this ain't what we are, boys."
"Hey, honey, how 'bout you give my doorknob a little polish?" Bodie said, squeezing his crotch and making a move to unbutton his fly.
"Man has to relax." Fix grinned.
The girl shut her eyes and dropped her gaze, then opened them with flint in her bold stare as she grabbed a knife from her belt and held it protectively as she rose to her feet, ready to fight. She turned in a full circle, then back again, facing the gunfighters who loomed over her on their horses, ready to cut them if they made a move.
A twinge of conscience stirred in Tucker's heart. He felt sorry for the poor damn girl. This Mexican had pluck and smarts, and he understood the considerable tar it must have taken for a woman alone to have ridden out to save her village and stand toe to toe with hard-ass killers like the three of them were. He respected and liked her, right down to the ground.
"Shut up, boys, and step back," said Tucker. "Ain't no way to treat a lady. Let alone one who's payin' us."
Fix and Bodie exchanged reluctant glances and nodded, following orders.
"Do what the man says, Bodie. Get her horse," said Fix quietly.
The Swede nodded, trotting a few yards to where the riderless mustang stood casually grazing on a patch of mescal. He retrieved the dangling reins and led it right next to the girl.
Tucker kept his hands up, palms upraised to show he meant no harm, rode unthreateningly over with a clop of hooves, leaned down with a creak and clink of leather and stirrup and offered the girl a gloved hand to help her back into her saddle. The simple peasant considered him in surprise and confusion, naked fear and distrust in her gaze softening into raw relief as she slowly took his hand. Her knife remained in her other hand for a moment, then was returned to her belt as she let him grasp her small palm and tug her foot up into her stirrup and settle her back into the saddle of her horse. Now she was eye level with them, and Tucker held her gaze with gentlemanly grace. "We get it," he said. "You dressed yourself up as a man 'cause you didn't know the kind of men we were, and the kind of men you needed were the kind of men didn't need to know what y'had under them clothes. What's your name?"
"Pilar," she said, no longer trying to disguise her voice, her natural timbre pretty and chimelike.
"Pretty name."
Tucker grinned. She smiled, dropped her eyes, then raised them to meet his. "I am sorry. To deceive you. It is as you say."
"Hell, this day is getting more damn interestin' every minute. Never a dull moment, nossir," Fix said.
"And daylight's wasting if we're making this town by noon," said Bodie.
Tucker nodded. "Bodie's right. Let's ride."
As Pilar led the way, riding out of earshot on her shaken horse, Tucker shot a fierce glance to his fellow gunfighters. "Let's just get the silver, boys. Then we'll fuck her and her sisters."
"And her mother if'n she has a set of cans like that on her." Bodie winked.
They half meant it.
Spurring their horses, the four horses and riders surged across the plain.
Tucker knew they were being followed.
He could smell them.
It wasn't much to go on, just a wisp of dust behind them in the far distance, a faint metallic clink that could have been nothing at all somewhere way off. If they were riders, how many there were he couldn't tell. Durango was afflicted with sudden arid winds popping up and sweeping down the plains whipping up dust devils so he could not be sure. Except for the gnawing tension in his gut telling him someone was out there and closing in. They'd made no effort to conceal their horse tracks during the morning ride, so their sign was right out there for anybody to see.
Maybe they should have been more careful.
They better be mindful from now on.
The cowboy saw Fix catch him looking over his shoulder a few times, and they shared a glance that alerted the thin gunfighter in black there might be something on their ass and to be ready, but as usual they didn't need words. All the small, spare gunfighter did was slightly caress the pearl pistol handle in his holster with his worn black glove to protect his hand from the scrape of the hammer when he fanned and fired in the quick draw. The four riders continued into the sun-blasted oblivion.
The day was getting mean hot, and their destination lay hours ahead. Lizards scampered on rocks. Somewhere far off the razor _scree_ of a hawk echoed into infinity. Then just the lulling clop of their hooves, and a waft of wind in his ears.
Bodie was in the rear, the giant Swede off in his own world, leaning back in his brown saddle, tree-stump legs relaxed, reins held loose in his cow-hoof hands, singing a loud song to himself in his gravelly, off-key voice. He grinned, bearing his cracked yellow teeth with sloppy affability, and laughed at some private joke in his granite boulder of a skull. He may be simple, Tucker felt, but he was so damn strong and there was a open-heartedness about him, so he didn't see the need to tell the big one about the riders who may or may not be shadowing the four. There was nothing to talk about yet, and Bodie would just forget the minute he was distracted by something shiny. Tucker was sometimes surprised the happy idiot remembered his name.
Ahead, the peasant girl led them along the barren trail, her black shiny close-cropped hair wafting in the wind, and her sweet floral scent drifted back to Tucker. For a few pleasant moments he just rode, closed his eyes, and breathed her in. This girl had sand. That she did. Again, he considered what it took for a young girl like her to recruit dangerous men like the three of them. She must have been very scared, but she'd done what she had to do. Where the hell were the men of her village? Goddamn Mexicans. Only one reason a simple girl like this would take the kind of risks she had. Whatever lay in wait for them at the town must be a hell of a lot scarier than they were. Tucker wanted to know the rest of the story and would ask her soon.
A huge cloud passed across the sun, creating a mile-long shadow that moved slowly across the desert like a scythe, the great darkness passing over them. It shadowed their faces beneath their hat brims in a black curtain against the bright daylight, making them squint. They all experienced a sudden chill, and then it was gone, replaced by the heat of the day as the overhead cloud passed the sun. The wall of shade continued on its relentless trek across the landscape like the shadow of the devil catching souls.
An antsy Tucker was getting tired of the ride. He just wanted to get there, to this town wherever it was, face up to whatever he was up against, do his killing and be done with it. The ride felt like an axe hanging over his head, the waiting worse than the battle. He knew he was a man of action because of this impatience and fierce nature. Waiting gave a man too much time to think and it wasn't good thinking too much.
"Hold up, boys."
For the third time on the last twenty miles Fix had found sign.
Tucker and Bodie pulled up their horses with Pilar, as the skeletal gunfighter in black bent from his saddle studying the ground. "I savvy fifteen sets of hoof prints," he said.
"What does this mean?" Pilar questioned, looking back and forth between her companions.
"Maybe somethin', maybe nothing," replied Fix. "They come in front from the north back at where we met up, then doubled back, crisscrossing their own tracks. Eight miles back, the tracks entered a shallow creek and didn't come out the other side, disappeared like, meaning them riders was heading in single-file formation through the water bed to disguise their movements, and when the creek turned into a river, too tough to negotiate with horses, the tracks finally came out."
"We ain't seen nobody." Bodie shrugged.
"Doesn't mean they ain't out there."
"Could be we're being followed," Tucker said.
"Let's keep our eyes peeled."
The peasant girl was worried. "Them, they are after you?"
The gunfighters looked at one another with a shared mutual understanding, but did not respond. It was an answer but no answer.
"Which them?" Bodie mumbled.
"Were you followed?" Tucker asked Pilar. "By whatever those varmints are holding your town?"
"I don't think so, Tuck," Bodie said. "We've been retracing her trail due south and Fix just said those tracks started from the north."
"We can sit around here scratching our balls talking about this all day. If we meet up with 'em we meet up with 'em. Let's get a move on." Tucker said.
His gang nodded. Pilar shrugged, and all four kept riding as the sun raised another few notches like the hand of a clock.
Fix, the signcutter of the bunch, noticed the stagecoach trail first.
It was two deep ruts in the ground heading east and west that he recognized as the Wells Fargo Durango route. They had happened onto it by accident. The cowboys briefly discussed following it, but Pilar insisted her village lay due south so off they set.
A mile away they came upon the stagecoach, or what was left of it.
The shattered wheel was the first thing they encountered, but the wreckage was not far off. The wagon had been completed destroyed. The carriage lay in an upside-down heaping pile of broken wooden boards and twisted metal chassis frame. The splintered doors, roof rack and spilled luggage were scattered debris all over the sun-baked rocks. The crushed skeletons of a team of dead horses were like one unrecognizable thing in a mountain of grinning skulls, spines, leg bones, hooves, horseshoes and caved-in rib cages jutting this way and that in a knotted confusion of harness and bridle, bleached clean in the merciless sun.
The horses they rode didn't like this, not one bit, and strained contrarily against their reins, protesting noisily and rearing so the men had to wrest them under control with a chorus of "woahs" and "easy". It was a bad place.
"Holy shit," muttered Bodie.
Tucker wondered what could have done this.
Pilar gazed on in knowing horror as the gunfighters took a few moments to ride around the wreckage, taking it all in.
"The stage must have been moving at a clip when it went off the road. What the hell was it doing driving this kind of terrain at that kind of speed? Must have been running from something," Tucker observed.
"It didn't just go off the road, boys. It got attacked," Fix added.
"The bandits around here don't mess around," Bodie said, just to say something.
"If it was bandits, why didn't they rob it?" Fix nudged his jaw down at an open suitcase spilling clothes, a lady's purse and wad of cash on the ground. Sitting in his saddle, he drew out his carbine and held it by the stock, leaning down to pick up the valise using the long barrel. Confiscating the cash, he flung the empty purse and suitcase back into the dust. "Looks like this ride was already worth our time. We'll divvy this up later."
"How long you figure this wreck been here?"
"Judging by those bleached bones, a month, mebbe longer."
"You boys notice something strange?" Tucker mentioned, bothered, as he studied the rubble. "Where's the bodies?"
On the ground lay a shattered silver pocket watch on a broken length of small chain. Tucker picked it up and saw the words "John Whistler" engraved inside the bent lid. The name rang a bell and he remembered it belonged to a bounty hunter he had met up with years ago. For sure they would never meet again. The cracked glass cover of the time face showed the hour and minute hands frozen at 8:28, immortalizing the exact moment their owner departed the earth.
A ratty piece of paper fluttering in the dry arid wind caught his eye, and as it was picked up in the breeze he snatched it out of the air. The gunfighter perused it momentarily and squinted with agitation, and when he saw the others looking at him, he quietly passed the wanted poster with their faces on it around to the other two men to whom it pertained. When it got to Fix, the thin gunsel crumpled it in his fist and pocketed the wadded ball of paper before the girl got a look.
"Interestin'," he said.
"This watch belonged to John Whistler," Tucker observed. "That stage was heading in our direction and he was on it."
"Them wanted posters must've belonged to him," Bodie said, stating the obvious with a sense of discovery. "Two and two put together equals he was after the reward."
Tucker tossed away the broken pocket watch. It clattered on the rocks and lay still. "Reckon we should probably thank whoever took him out. Whistler was a real bad ass and could have given us big problems."
"I think we should say a few words over the dearly departed." Fix spat a blob of tobacco juice with precision accuracy, splattering the watch. "Fuck y'all. Amen."
"I know what did this," said Pilar. That was all she said.
"Let me guess," said Tucker. "Those we're goin' up against."
Her eyes told it all.
They rode on and left the decimated stagecoach in their dust.
Canyon cleaved up several hundred yards ahead, squeezing the trail into an ass crack of a ravine. The dull, tedious minutes passed as the three riders followed the horse of the determined peasant girl. One stallion exhaled with a wet _flubber_. The rattle of the packs on the saddles squeaked with leather over the clop of hooves as the men ascended the rise and came to a depression in the mesa baking like an oven under the nasty sun. The glare was so bright it hurt their eyes, and their vision swam as they squinted and visored their foreheads with their hands to shield their gaze from the sand that reflected like glass.
Ahead, a black smudge was in the watery waves of heat.
There were blurry dots in the sky in the molten, undulating thermals rising off the desert.
The closer they rode, they discerned those hovering spots were black birds. Vultures circling. Many.
Over the next hill, buzzards gathered.
An outpost.
The riders reined their horses.
Vultures continued their overhead circumference.
Over the ridge, the remains of a stagecoach station lay in smoldered ruins. The charred walls looked painted dull red, but on closer inspection the red was not paint.
"This is a bad place," whispered the girl. " _Muy mal_."
The gunfighters dismounted their horses and drew their irons.
"Easy, boys. This place ain't right," Tucker said.
Fix sniffed. "You boys smell that?"
"Like an open grave." Bodie winced.
The three cowboys carefully approached the gutted ruins of the stage junction a hundred yards before them. The lonely building sat quietly in an open clearing with nothing for miles but a few yucca plants and the worn rutted trail running past it. Tucker led, eyes glued to the area, gesturing with his fingers for the others to come forward when he saw the coast was clear. The building was a one-story brick construction with a wooden porch and a paddock.
There had been a great disturbance. Saddles and tack lay scattered on the ground, thrown to and fro as if in a savage rage. One of the saddles was raked with four ragged claw marks that had cut deep into the leather, shredding and nearly shearing it in half. The outpost had clearly been torched from the inside, and Bodie kicked away a broken melted kerosene lamp that may have been the cause. There was no sign of life, no movement at all. Just the three figures of the heavily armed gunfighters coming at it on three sides, pistols at the ready, their gunbarrels following their noses. The silence was oppressive, the opposite of sound, a vacuum that felt like it sucked them all in. The men moved steadily forward in a low crouch and passed the corral when they were assailed by a sudden overpowering stench.
Behind the fence, the bleached white skeletons of six dead horses lay in a heaping pile on the ground, their skulls and leg bones torn completely off their bodies, and rib cages broken open to reveal open black holes of their gut cavities. Long, dragging tears of teeth and claw marks marred their skeletal remains. Clouds of flies swarmed in the eyes and mouths of the dead horses' craniums. Globular eye sockets gaped as if from the unimaginable agony of the horrific way they died.
"They didn't have to kill them horses," growled Fix, who hated cruelty to animals though he didn't admit it.
"They didn't just kill them. They scourged them," observed Tucker. "You boys know any Injun tribes this area do that, a warning mebbe?"
The stretched equine jawbones and jutting teeth were contorted in death's head grimaces. Some of their dried guts hung draped from the rails of the paddock. The stench of old rot and bile was overpowering.
"None I ever heard of. And this ain't Injun land."
"Could be a war party," added Bodie.
"I don't know what the hell this is. Exceptin' that this is Mexico."
They hunkered by the edge of the corral abattoir and considered the porch to the outpost a few paces ahead. Huge streaks of black char rose up the adobe walls by the splashes of clotted blood as if buckets of gore had been tossed against the structure. The roof beams were incinerated.
Tucker looked back and saw the peasant girl riding closer after her initial trepidation. The look on her face was not as frightened as he would have expected from a plain and simple girl, it was like she had seen this all before.
"Stay back," he called to her.
Shaking her head, the peasant warily climbed off her horse and followed the men as they approached the ominous stagecoach junction. The doors and windows were black and foreboding like the sockets of a skull.
Death was here.
Movement in the doorway darkness caused the three gunfighters to raise their weapons, ready to fire.
With a bitter caw, five filthy buzzards exploded out the open door and beat a sickening ascent into the searing bleached sky.
The gunslingers entered the outpost, guns leveled.
Inside the structure, Tucker and Bodie stared at what lay before them in raw horror and these men had seen it all. Even Fix's eyes bugged out of his head, finger sweaty on his trigger. The large room was dark and gloomy, bright sunlight cutting through the musty air in big shafts that revealed the inside of the building was washed floor to roof with clotted blood. Countless flies were stuck to the dried gore, wings twitching. The decayed skeletons of several people dangled from ropes on the ceiling, hung from their feet, bones rattling in the dry breeze. Swarming flies buzzed.
"Hellfire," Fix whispered.
The cowboys covered their noses with their kerchiefs, wincing at the horrible stench, their squinty eyes regarding the ghastly scene, then each other.
Several piles of bones were assembled around the dirt floor. These people had been passengers, waiting for the stage but meeting up with something else instead. The skulls and femurs were immediately recognizable as human. The skeletons had been gnawed clean, and those tidy piles were neat, deliberate. Clothes were heaped in another pile, black with dried blood, so the victims had been stripped after they were killed. Tucker gauged there were maybe eight to ten sets of human remains. Two of the skulls were very small and delicate, a child and an infant, both crushed in like porcelain dolls. A stuffed teddy bear Tucker guessed belonged to one of the children sat slumped over on a wooden table, its black button eyes blank as if erased by what it had witnessed. He saw a heap of emptied suitcases and carpetbags piled in the corner by the small stove. The luggage had been rifled through, valuables filched, robbed. The work of bandits, likely, from the looks of things, but what kind of bandits would do this to people defied comprehension. Then again, Tucker didn't know these parts, and maybe these looters had showed up after whomever had done the killing. A dead, half-smoked cigar sat on a rusted metal horseshoe ashtray, probably still burning when the killers came. Tucker picked up the stogie, put it in his mouth, and lit it. The smoke drifted out of his lips, and helped wash away the carrion stink of the place as he looked around.
Fix kicked at a buzzard waddling in.
"Awww God, they killed kids, poor little kids didn't do nothin'."
Alerted by the distress in Bodie's voice, Tucker slid his eyes over to see the towering Swede crouching under the low roof, his cement-block face crumpled in a distraught expression, huge hands holding the tattered, blood-drenched lace and frill homemade dress of a little girl now just gruesome rags in his thick fingers. The cloth slipped through his hands, dropping with an empty sound on the sodden dirt. Tucker watched the despondent Bodie run his hand in dismay through his hair, clenching and unclenching his repeater rifle in the other until his knuckles grew big and white as pebbles. This was the worst thing any of them had ever seen. The leader felt it too, the same rage they all did, and knew as his friends did that if they came face to face with those responsible, the gunfighters would kill them real slow, shoot them apart piece by piece and watch them die screaming in their own blood and shit all day long. Then they'd cut their heads off and put them on sticks. They'd done it before.
"Those was bad kills," Fix said.
"Them people was skinned alive," muttered Tucker.
Bodie shook his head. "Goddamn massacre. Never seen nothing like it. Ever."
"You figure it was the same sumbitches in this town we're going up against?" Fix worked his jaw.
Tucker nodded. "Reckon."
"Scalphunters?" Fix spat.
"Nope." Tucker shook his head, fingering his beard. He indicated the messy mops of grisly matted pelt on some of the faceless skulls. "They'd have took the hair."
"Right."
Bodie shrugged. "Coyotes, then? Rabid mebbe?"
"Open your eyes, Bodie. Look." Fix bristled at the other gunfighter's stupidity. "They's hung from the rafters."
Tucker glowered. "Pulled apart limb from limb while they were alive, too, from the looks of things." He hunkered down by the piles of arm bones pulled off the dangling skeletons and grimaced at the teeth marks gnawed to the marrow. "And eaten."
"Eaten?" Bodie squirmed squeamishly.
Fix stared impassively. "Nobody should die like that."
Taking off his hat, shaken to the core, the wiry little gunfighter went outside for air. The other two gunslingers remained, legs weak, as if the empty eye sockets and grinning teeth of _los deparacedos_ , the disappeared ones, wished them to bear witness a few moments longer.
"Who would do something like this?" Tucker whispered mostly to himself.
"It was them, _senors_." The girl stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her honest gaze grim.
"This was what come to your town?" Fix asked from outside.
" _Si_."
Bodie whistled.
"Then lady, you got some big problems," Tucker grunted.
"That's why I have you," the peasant answered, a fact simply stated. And he thought he might have seen her smile, just a little.
"What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?"
"Boys," muttered Fix. "I found sign."
The cowboys went outside, glad to get out of the slaughterhouse. The abattoir of an outpost sat festering in the light of day. The vultures, afraid of the armed men, hung back, impatient for them to depart so they could resume their feast.
Tucker and Bodie walked up to Fix, who had squatted down on one knee a dozen yards away by a huge amount of horse tracks heading away from the outpost due south.
"Must be them." Fix looked up. "Heading away from us."
"They came here before our town. The first night we heard them it was from the north." Pilar fought tears. "You see? You see what will happen to my people if you don't help us? Please help us, _senors_. Please."
Tucker nodded. "That's what you hired us for, ma'am. But we better get a move on."
They saddled up. All four spurred their horses hard, getting the hell out of there and urging the animals full gallop until they were long gone over the next ridge. The ghastly outpost and its congregation of buzzards fell out of sight, if not out of mind, to their rear. The dry, raw wind of the open desert in their faces washed the stench of death from their noses and mouths, but the taste lingered, until at last they let up on their horses and slowed to a canter on the dusty trail.
Chapter Five
As they rode on, Tucker looked over his shoulder and saw the distant dust trail of a group of horses and riders on their tail.
Fix looked back too with a furrowed brow. "What is it?"
Tucker squinted. "Mebbe something. Mebbe nothing."
When they looked again, there was no sign of anything behind. Bodie's hand went to his pistol in his holster. "We got trouble?"
Tucker shook his head. "Nah. Outpost back there rattled me some is all."
They didn't ride far when Bodie whistled. "Boys, we got company."
The two other gunfighters looked up to see what their fellow shootist was eyeballing.
Back about a mile off, through the melting waves of rising heat, a wall of riders was coming in their direction, kicking up dust.
"That who I think it is?"
Tucker nodded. "I'd bet money. Let's get out of here." The men spurred their horses and took off.
The girl started her horse to gallop in order to keep up. "Why are we riding so fast?" she hollered.
Tucker yelled to her over the pounding hooves. "We need to make time to get to your town!"
A maze of granite canyon breaks lay directly ahead. A piece of luck. The cowboys and the girl made for them. A labyrinth of gray mud arroyos and gulleys networked the valley for the next few miles, big enough to ride horses through. They might lose their pursuers in there. The cowboys and the peasant trotted down a steep narrow draw until it spilled out in a wending ravine that tooled through the cool high rock walls thirty feet above them. Their hooves splashed through a thin stream of water flowing by. They didn't look back, just forged ahead, as the bend went right, then left, then right again. There was no sign of it spilling out, or even an indication of where it led. Tucker understood while the canyon breaks offered an escape route in which they could lose those after them, the gunfighters were also trapped, boxed in. If they got cornered their backs were to the wall. Worse, if their adversaries were up above on the top of the ridge and spotted them riding down in the ravine, they would have the high ground and pick them off easily. A quick glance at the worried looks on his fellow gunfighters' faces and Tucker saw they were thinking the same thing. Fix certainly was. That damn Bodie was probably thinking about grub. It was a double-edged sword being down here, and Tucker wondered whether it had been a mistake. That was when he heard the sound of hoof beats, a great many, echoing down in the latticework of ravines with them. He knew then that he didn't have to worry about these pursuers being up on the ridge, because they were right down there with them and would catch up directly.
"Lock and load," he snarled.
"Good. I'm getting sick of this running crap," said Fix.
"We don't know how many they are," shot back Tucker. "There's no money in mixin' it up with these whoever-they-ares, plus we got silver to get to and best save our bullets for that. I say we lose 'em."
"I'm with Tucker." Bodie nodded.
They pulled up their horses and stopped at a fork in the canyon. Dark, craggy, twisting ravines broke off in three directions. The muffled echo of the hooves of many riders loudly reverberated seemingly from all directions, a sound like a rushing river, rebounding off the walls of chipped rock rising thirty feet above them.
"There's a lot of 'em. But I'm ready," panted Bodie.
"Which way?" snarled Fix, pulling up his reins and urgently looking left and right down the empty ravines leading off in opposite directions into the canyons. The sound of horses was growing in volume, more distinct, but it was impossible to tell which way they were coming at them from. Pilar tossed her head as she gazed around her, face sweating and beautiful with alarm.
"I don't know," Tucker growled through gritted teeth, pump shotgun in one hand and reins in the other as he turned his horse in a circle, listening. He shot a desperate glance upward at the notch of the top of the pass. "Find a trail leading up to the top of the canyon, then we get the high ground and shoot down at 'em."
"Where?" shouted Fix.
"This way."
Pilar was wild with fear, hunched in her saddle. "It is _them_ , _senors_!"
"No, not them." Tucker dug his spurs into his stallion's flanks. "Let's go!"
The ridge lay ahead in the daylight. The men charged for the hill. They almost made it when six Federales galloped their horses around the edge of the canyon to suddenly surround them on all sides, hooves sending up clouds of flying dirt and pebbles. The grizzled, tough men wore dusty tan uniforms and were armed to the teeth. Their button coats were crisscrossed with rifle straps. Each had a tan cap on their heads. The knee-high black boots, brass buckles and spurs glinted in the sun. The soldiers already had pistols drawn, and a few had rifles to their shoulders.
" _Halto_!" their Captain yelled. He was a swarthy, gaunt man with military bearing and a sunken, oily aspect to his countenance.
The gunfighters quickly circled their horses, hands by their guns, braced for action.
Tucker looked up and nudged his chin at his friends and they followed his gaze. Thirty feet above them, on the cliff of the ravine, more Federales rose into position, rifles aimed down their noses at the gunfighters' heads.
"Easy," he said to Fix and Bodie. They were way outnumbered and outgunned.
"Mornin'." Tucker clenched his jaw and regarded the beady-eyed commandante.
Pilar spoke up first, words in Spanish tumbling out of her pretty mouth as she plaintively implored the impassive Federales, gesturing her hands emotively. Tucker only knew a little of the local language, but thought he caught something about bandits and a town and protection, and he figured she was explaining they were with her to help save her people. But then she rode up too close to the Captain and he struck her silent with a brutal swipe of the back of his gloved hand. She just cringed in her saddle, watching him and the other soldiers with fear and despair.
The three gunslingers reacted in a rage that surprised them, a bond already formed with the girl they had just met that morning, and in unison their hands moved an inch dangerously closer to their holstered weapons.
There was a resounding chorus of ratcheting _clicks_ of hammers being drawn back on the guns of the soldiers surrounding them, and the cowboys thought better of reckless action.
Tucker clenched his jaw. "You didn't have to do that, asshole."
" _Que_?" the martinet replied.
Fix squinted. "Something we can help you boys with?"
The Federale Captain barked, "What are your names?"
"Smith," said Bodie.
"Jones," said Fix.
"Abraham Lincoln," replied Tucker.
The commandante squinted and pulled a folded wanted poster out of his jacket, looking it over. Pilar watched the soldiers and the gunslingers in alarm, her eyes tensely dodging back and forth. The cowboys exchanged slow, laconic, loaded glances. Fix's jaw slowly worked his chewing tobacco. The Federale officer passed the wanted poster to his Sergeant, who displayed it.
Recognizable likenesses of Tucker, Bodie and Fix's faces were on the paper.
Pilar glanced back at her fierce hirelings to see what they were going to do and what they did visibly surprised her. Tucker started to chuckle, and he was joined by Fix and then Bodie, and now they were all three laughing and then the Captain's fat lips split and he was laughing too, until his medals-laden chest shook, and now all the soldiers in the canyon were laughing like it was one big joke. But Pilar knew it was not funny and people were about to die very badly.
Fix spat a glob of tobacco juice on the poster.
The Federale Captain went for his gun.
Like one deadly killing machine, the gunfighters quickdrew their pistols from their side holsters, amazingly fast, blowing the Captain clean out of his saddle. Dismounted, the Federale seemed to Pilar to float in the air forever, arms and legs twirling, big flowers of blood and jetting gore erupting from the holes in his chest. Even bigger discharges of red meat out his back splattered the faces of the soldiers behind him, even as their heads disappeared in a disintegration of hair and skull. The ventilated commandante finally hit the ground and lay still in a great cloud of settling dust.
By then the air was alive with flying bullets that boomed and buzzed and whined around the canyon like furious bees. Lightning and thunder burst from the muzzles of the gunfighters' irons as they fanned and fired, again and again, in every direction.
Pilar cowered in abject terror as her horse reared and pawed the air, turning on its hind legs as she grabbed onto the saddle for dear life to stop from sliding off, but the girl toppled from the panic-stricken animal's rump onto the hard ground and smashed her shoulder. When she looked up, framed against the sun she saw the titanic behemoth of her horse on its back legs over her. Its powerful shod hooves came down on the ground directly at her head. Pilar rolled away as two slugs ricocheted off the ground in an ear-shattering din __ that cut her scalp with chips of rock. The horse's hooves crashed down by her head, and she lay flattened on the earth seeing only the exploding bullets and the rampaging legs of many horses. She saw a set of familiar hooves charging straight for her and curled in a ball covering her head, cursing herself for her weakness, knowing she was about to be trampled to death, failing her people.
It was going to hurt to die.
But that didn't happen.
The horse thundered past her as a hand grabbed her arm and pulled with amazing strength. It heaved her like a feather up off the ground and over her rescuer's saddle, as he shielded her with his shoulders and chest. Pilar knew his scent, the good smell of the one called Tucker.
The horse steered around, and the cowboy carefully placed her on the ground behind a large boulder at the edge of the raging gunfight. As her feet touched solid earth, she looked up at the gunfighter in his saddle and saw the flash of kindness in his wild, concerned eyes.
"Stay down!" he roared.
The girl nodded, breathless.
With that, his spurred horse charged around the boulder back into the fray, him holding onto the saddle with his knees as both hands held pistols and the guns belched fire, over and over.
Pilar covered her ears and peered around the edge of the rock, watching it all go down. A thrill of excitement such as she had never experienced filled her while she gazed on, transfixed. The shooting raged in a frenetic chaos of horses and men and flying slugs that she saw unfold with intense detail.
The jaw of one of the soldiers was shot off.
Another took a bullet in the eye.
Now some had abandoned their horses to seek cover behind the rocks. Up on the ridge, two soldiers leaped up from cover, silhouetted against the sun. They traded fire with Fix, then Tucker.
Tucker quickly crisscrossed his arms, aiming his left-handed gun over his right shoulder and his right-handed pistol over the left, firing upward twice, toppling two of the Federales off the cliffs above them. The men fell screaming, trailing ropes of blood until they hit the rocks with a wet _splat_. Tucker had whirled his horse around and was firing two-fisted and straight-armed at three other soldiers who blasted back with their rifles. His pistols empty, Tucker holstered them and in one smooth move withdrew a pump shotgun from his saddlebag. He raised it to his shoulder, one hand holding down the trigger while the hand on the pump jerked back and forth in a blasting motion that never ceased. Sparks and flashes ricocheted everywhere on the canyon walls. The Federales fell.
Pilar watched enthralled from the ground behind the boulder. She had not seen these gunslingers fight until now, and had never seen men such as these in action. They moved like one weapon, and it was a dance of lethal beauty. Now she knew what they could do.
In the midst of the battle, Fix got off his horse, gave the skittish animal a smack on its rump sending it on its way bolting out of the melee, and stood on his own two feet. He seemed more comfortable that way. The little gunfighter just held his ground, terrifyingly still, as bullets flew around him, calmly placing his aim and surgically picking off soldiers. Pilar observed that Fix made few moves, measuring every gesture, and that his very stillness and implacability under fire rattled his enemies. They hesitated a second too long to take proper aim, and by then the unblinking little man had them targeted and his slug was in flight. Bullets whined past him, but he didn't flinch. He was scary, dressed incongruously in the soiled black gentlemen's vest, suit and bowler hat.
Bodie's horse was hit in the head by a stray round and went down, spilling the giant Swede out of his saddle. Both came to earth with a great crash. He pushed the heavy, dead stallion off him with one hand. Grabbing up his Winchester, he waded into the skirmish on foot with a great roar of fury and a very big grin.
Tucker had been hit.
She didn't see when it had happened but now his face was screwed up in pain as he held a bleeding puddle of red on his arm, though it didn't seem to stop him as he yanked off his handkerchief and with a quick tugging motion tourniqueted his arm tightly. The soldier who had shot him needed to reload and was bathed in desperate sweat fumbling fresh rounds into his pistol. Without missing a beat, the bearded gunslinger one-handed his pump shotgun with his unimpaired hand and blew the soldier clean away. Catapulted back a good twenty feet through the air against the side of a cliff, the Federale slid down the wall, sliming a snail trail of blood, already a corpse.
Whirling her head, Pilar saw Bodie swinging his rifle by the barrel like he was swatting at flies, clubbing the soldiers in the heads, emptying their skulls as they dropped like sacks.
Then suddenly, they were the last men standing. Half-visible in an eldritch ether of gunsmoke and dust, Tucker, Fix and Bodie stood tall and still on the body-strewn ground, the three men fearsomely silhouetted in the haze that hung in the air. Pilar watched them from behind the boulder, her heart pounding in her bosom. It was over.
These were terrifying men.
Who was it she had hired?
What had she unleashed?
True, the blue-eyed one had risked his life to shield her body with his own when the shooting had begun, had gotten her to safety and had not thought twice. Yet what of the others, she worried, maybe they were worse. Then she remembered what her father always said.
You can tell a man by the company he keeps.
She didn't know here if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
One thing Pilar was sure of.
She had chosen well.
The gunslingers holstered their pistols and looked around. The ground was littered with uniformed corpses. They'd gotten them all, of that Tucker was certain. The wanted poster wafted in the wind, riddled with holes. His arm smarted, but a quick once over showed the bullet had gone clean through, so he tightened the scarf tourniquet and figured he'd tend to the wound when they got to the town in a few hours. They must be close now. Looking at Fix and Bodie he saw they were all right.
The taut little mustached gunfighter was wandering among the corpses, giving them the long eyeball. He stopped by one, fingered his lip hair, and then patted the dead body down for valuables, feeling around the pockets.
Bodie had already gotten busy gathering their horses from across the ravine where they had bolted. The giant was selecting a fresh bay from one of the dead Federale's mounts since his own horse had been felled. He led the animals across the gully, soothingly patting their flanks with his great hands and making comforting sounds, and there he tied them off. Then Bodie walked to where his horse lay dead, bleeding from the head. Getting down on one knee, crestfallen, he untied the belts of his saddle with his sausage fingers and removed it. Shoulders slumped, he carried his saddle back toward their tethered horses and began to tack his new horse.
Looking the other way, Tucker saw Pilar rising from behind the rock, shaken but with a look of great relief on her face. He gestured to her it was safe to come out and she approached, looking down at all the dead men and crossing herself again and again. That was the first time he noticed the small silver crucifix on the delicate chain around her neck. The peasant eyed the hard gunmen with naked awe, respect and horror. She was probably wondering who the hell she got in bed with, he figured.
"Daylight's wasting. Let's ride," grunted Tucker.
"Not yet," Fix said.
The small, wiry, flinty-eyed cowboy hunkered in a crouch, rummaging efficiently through the cadavers' clothes, stealing money off the dead Federales. He used his gunstock to knock out the gold teeth of one carcass and pocketed his grisly bounty. "They won't be needin' none of that _dinero_." Fix made a brisk, tidy search of the other corpses' clothes in a matter of minutes. The peasant was mortified. When the little man had stuffed his pockets full of coins, wallets, loose bills and bloody, glinting metal teeth, he wandered over to his horse and dumped the spoils of the kill into one of his saddlebags. "We'll divvy up at the town."
"Least you left the hair," Tucker snorted.
"This time." Fix grinned.
"Let's go," grunted the leader.
They moved to their horses.
The Mexican knelt by the bodies, waving her arms. "No, _senors_. We must bury them."
_"What?"_ said Fix.
"It is only right," Pilar said, as if it was plain common sense. She got up and brushed off her knees. "They must have words spoken over them."
Bodie laughed and spat. "Here's some words for 'em... See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya." The cowboys all had a good laugh at that.
"Thought you said we need to get to your town by noon," said Tucker softly.
Pilar shook her head devoutly, and he knew they had a situation. "Those who fell must be buried or it is a mortal sin. We need God on our side in the hours ahead and this is a test of our faith." The girl stood with her hands clasped by her stomach facing them patiently as she stood among the bodies, and the three cowboys watched her as they stood with their hands on the saddles of their horses.
"You're shittin' me." Fix's eyes widened in incredulity.
"I don't think she is." Tucker chuckled, shaking his head to himself as he looked down his rangy frame at his boots.
The peasant gestured to battlefield. "It will not take much time, if we all dig."
Bodie laughed. "Us? Dig?"
The peasant girl nodded with a sweet, hopeful smile.
"I ain't lifting a finger," Fix snorted.
"Leave 'em to the buzzards," agreed Bodie.
"No, no, no...!" Pilar shook with distress.
Tucker lowered his voice to a reasonable tone. "Sister, these bastards tried to kill us. They were bad men. They'd have left us for dead. They can rot."
" _Senors_ , they were Federales."
"Trust us, those swine wasn't no kind of law," Tucker sighed.
Fix bristled with anger and impatience. "Woman, you are getting on the worse side of our better nature."
Bodie growled restlessly. "We're riding out of here now, says us."
The small, pretty girl sighed and stubbornly grabbed a small hand shovel from her saddle with soft resolve. Her shoulders slumped, she walked to the ground near the dead bodies and started to dig. "I understand, _senors_. I will do it. It will not take too long." Then she began shoveling dirt.
Tucker tipped his hat. "Knock yourself out."
As the peasant dug away, the cowboys loitered fifty yards away and passed the time watching the girl toil diligently without complaint. It took her about ten minutes to unearth the first shallow grave about three feet deep out of the mud which was soft and damp from the creek running through the canyons. Already she sweated from the heat and the effort. The three gunfighters watched her with bored and casual disinterest from the shade of a nook in the granite wall where they had tethered the horses. Tucker had a smoke, then rolled another. Pilar grabbed the dead Federale Captain by the feet, the only way she could move his weight, and tugged the body toward the open grave. His uniform was red with blood, ragged holes of cloth and flesh in the torso by the medals. With a grunt of exertion, she kneeled down and rolled his body over into the ditch with a dull wet _thud_ of flopping limbs. She said a few hushed words over the deceased and kissed her crucifix. Then Pilar rose, grabbed the shovel and scooped the pile of dirt back in the hole onto his body with a steady _thump_ of impact. When she was done five minutes later, she tamped the dirt on the mound of the shallow grave and set directly to work digging the next.
Eight more bodies lay sprawled.
The day moved on atop the ridge.
The sun was higher in the sky.
The peasant had two graves dug. Working on the third, she was lathered in sweat. But tired as she was, she did not fail to clasp her crucifix over each buried soldier and quietly whisper a few words. The nearby cowboys saw her lips enunciate but they couldn't hear her. The three gunfighters lounged impatiently by their horses, cleaning their guns. All of them were antsy. "How many those Federales you boys figure that _senorita_ is gonna plant before she tires out?" Fix asked, jaw working a plug of tobacco in annoyance.
"Wench is plumb set to keel over right now." Bodie waved a big paw dismissively.
"So how many more bodies you figure, Tuck?"
"All of 'em." Tucker smiled, fondly watching the distant shapely figure forging on. The woman had brass, that she did. "All of 'em."
Big mile-long cloud shadows moved across the ridge, shadowing the cowboys' faces under the shaded brims of their hats. In the passing darkness, it became cool as the temperature dropped by degrees. When the clouds passed, the sun was higher yet, hotter and burning down.
Four graves. One tired Mexican. Still shoveling.
The cowboys lay on the ground with their hats over their eyes. They exchanged glances, feeling like swine. They regarded the peasant girl. Fix yelled, "Hurry it up there, missy!"
They looked at one another.
Tucker nudged his jaw to the other gunfighters. "Give her some water, boys."
Bodie grabbed a canteen. "Little lady, drink this so you don't die on us, 'fore we get that silver." Pilar gratefully caught the canteen, took a thirsty swig, tossed it back and returned to work on the fourth grave.
Tucker regarded the others evenly. He felt like a no account letting the girl do all that work, not lifting a hand to help her. While he didn't care about the corpses, she did and that's what mattered. At least he could show some manners and get off his ass. "Savvy mebbe we should help her," he muttered.
Fix bunched his shoulders, lowering his head under his bowler hat stubbornly. "Hell, it's her thing, let her do it."
Tucker looked to the sky. "We're burnin' daylight. Sooner them graves get dug the sooner we get to that silver."
Bodie scoffed. "Daylight, hell. You're just feeling sorry for the damn little twist." The gunfighters watched the exhausted peasant struggling under her labors.
"So shoot me." The leader got up and grabbed a hand shovel from his saddle, resigned. He joined Pilar digging the grave, using one arm mostly, and the appreciative girl grinned prettily as a desert flower.
It went quicker.
The other two cowboys watched from across the gulley. Fix gave in to peer pressure first. "I don't want to hear it, Bodie." With a resentful grunt, the small shootist clambered to his dusty boots, got his shovel and joined the impromptu gravediggers.
Bodie yelled across the area at them. "You're dumb shits, both of you, hear me! I ain't digging. Nossir, not me! Bury them heathen sumbitches tried to kill us? Screw that! They wouldn't have done for us, that's for damn sure. You boys listenin' to me?" His pals ignored him, putting their backs into shoveling. Bodie turned beet red, embarrassed. "You go right on digging. See if I care! You boys are goin' soft! Soft. You hear me? I am just going to sit back here on this hot ground and drink whisky and get drunk and laugh at you fools! That's what I'm gonna do. Ha ha! That's me laughin'. Want to hear more? Ha ha! I ain't diggin' no graves for no sumbitches! I am just gonna sit right here on my ass." He took a slug of hooch. "Damn your eyes."
Grumbling, Bodie got up, grabbed his shovel and joined his fellow gunslingers digging the graves.
The lovely peasant girl was happy and flashed them her beautiful white teeth. "You are good men, _senors_."
"Shut up!" The three cowboys shouted at her in unison.
The Mexican was smiling anyway.
The desert was bright under the light of midday and the clouds had moved off, leaving the sky white as bleached bone by the time the four horses disappeared in the distance.
Nine shallow mounds behind them in the dirt.
Chapter Six
The _borracho_ 's __ name is Hector Vargas but far back as he can remember people called him The Drunk.
So be it.
Thinking he never liked his name anyway, he sits in the saddle and rides into town on his horse for a place he seeks. The harsh sun is raw and hot overhead, burning down on his face under his sombrero. The old man is armed to the teeth with the guns and ammo stolen from the dead Federales back at the jail, but doesn't expect trouble. The place looks quiet and is not much of a town to begin with.
He trots past the cantina where the gunfighters met up with the peasant girl that very morning, but that means nothing to him for he does not know them.
It has been a month since the werewolf broke him out of his cell and he'd __ hit the trail with the arms, silver and horse stolen from the police station. The _borracho_ still wears the same shabby raggedy man clothes that are much dustier now, the blood on them from that fateful night long since dried. For weeks he has drifted around Durango, drinking up much of the silver, but he still has plenty left and will need it. A disturbing dream the old man has been having since his escape tells him what he must do and this is why he is here. A full cycle of the moon has passed since he shot the werewolf and tonight the moon will be full again, so he does not have time to waste. The lives of many depend on him.
His horse passes the run-down structures of the tiny town one by one, silent and still in the hazy dust. The quiet _clop_ of his _caballo's_ hooves in the dirt are all he hears. The old man's leathery sunburned face turns side to side as he rides, his squinting eyes searching for the establishment he knows must be here, for every town has one.
At last he finds it. The gunsmith works out of a small barn in back of the stables. The _borracho_ tethers his horse in the paddock, takes his confiscated rifles, pistols and bag of silver and enters. It is cooler inside the store, but not by much, and the old man wipes sweat with his handkerchief. Guns, feed and horse oats stack the racks. The emaciated Mexican proprietor looks up at him with suspicion, giving the stink eye to his derelict appearance and the weapons he carries. The drunk sees the owner reach defensively for an unseen gun under the counter and quickly puts the bag of silver in front of him so the man knows he means business, not robbery.
The proprietor eyes the silver in the pouch, then its grizzled owner. "How can I help you?"
"I need you to make me bullets."
"We sell ammo. Every caliber."
"I need you to make me bullets of silver."
Crazy old man, say the storekeeper's eyes.
"For these weapons," the _borracho_ adds, placing the bolt-action rifle, repeater rifle and two revolvers on the counter.
"You want me to make silver bullets?"
"As many as this amount of silver will produce. Minus your payment, of course." His crusty, gnarled fingers pour the silver coins out of the pouch and push aside a small fortune, sliding it over. That still leaves many, many coins for the job. For the first time, the proprietor smiles. Shiny metal glints in his eyes in the dusty sunlight drifting through the windows.
"I can do that," the gunsmith says. Picking up the four weapons the _borracho_ provides, he dutifully checks out their calibers one after the other. ".22. .45. .476. Do you have a preference?"
"Make as many bullets as you can manufacture for all of them."
It will take him an hour. Make yourself comfortable, the owner tells his unusual customer. Have a drink, in fact take the bottle, you are paying me enough, he says. So the old man takes a seat on a barrel keg and rests his tired bones for what he knows will be a long hard ride ahead if he is to make his destination by sundown. The bottle is gladly accepted, its contents drained for fortitude.
He will need all the liquid courage he can muster.
The proprietor melts down the silver on a pan over a pot-bellied stove in back of the store. He is friendly now and curious, and asks questions the old man softly answers.
"You are going to sell these bullets?"
"No, I am going to use them."
"Pardon me, _senor_ , but you don't look like a _pistolero_."
"I am a drunk. A _borracho_."
"Why the silver bullets?"
"You would not believe me."
"It's your money."
"I have something I must make right."
While the gunsmith makes the bullets the old man goes outside and waters his horse for the journey.
And an hour later it is done.
The silver is melted down then poured into bullet-head molds, which are hardened in ice water to be inserted into cartridge casings of the required caliber after the gunpowder. One hundred eighty-nine bullets in all.
"What is your name, stranger?"
"I am Hector Vargas."
_And today I will do what must be done._
"Good luck to you, Se _nor Hector_. When I hear of silver bullets, I will know of your deeds." The drunk takes the shiny ammo and nods thanks.
The gunsmith has come to like the sad, strange old man and helps him load his weapons, for the drunkard's hands shake. The shop owner feels a twinge of remorse watching through the window as the _borracho_ struggles into the stirrups of his horse and rides off. He reckons the man that bought the silver rounds will surely be shot dead by a regular lead bullet before he ever gets a chance to pull his own trigger.
The _borracho_ learned the purpose of silver bullets from his grandfather when he was just a boy. None of the people in the town believed The Men Who Walked Like Wolves existed. They thought his grandfather a drunken fool, but the aged farmer swore it had been written by the Old Ones that silver was the only way to kill them.
His grandfather had also taught Hector how to drink, letting the lazy boy take his first sips of whisky from his bottle when he was ten. One day, the young _borracho_ had accompanied his father's father on a ride in their cart from their village to a nearby town to fetch supplies. "Take this useless _nino_ ," his father had said. "Hector is no good for work here." That suited the boy fine because he hated hard labor and loved his crazy _abuelo._ Off they rode, leaving the village far behind. Passing the bottle back and forth in the shaky wagon, they rode through the desert in the hot sun and it was a good day. The trek should have taken just hours, but their horse broke a leg in a rut by late afternoon. The boy cried as his grandfather told him not to look and there was a single gunshot and the lamed _caballo_ lay dead in the sand.
It was many miles to town and almost as far back to the village, so his grandfather said they would spend the night under the stars and start on foot in the morning.
It was a bad decision.
There was a full moon that night.
The dark desert was cold and they shared the blanket and the bottle that was running low. _Abuelo_ , the boy had asked, are not werewolves about? His grandfather had smiled, told him not to worry for they were protected, and this was when he displayed the fistful of silver-headed cartridges he took from his pocket. Dumping the regular bullets from the cylinder of his _pistola_ , he loaded the SAA revolver with the shiny ones that glinted bright in the moonlight. The young _borracho_ saw his grandfather cock the pistol and set it by his side as he lay in the back of the cart to rest.
The grandfather was very drunk and slept like the dead.
The sound of the wolves did not wake him.
Nor did the old man awaken when the young _borracho,_ drunk himself, __ shook him while he snored on. The noise of the creatures somewhere out in the darkness terrified the youngster, who wet his pants and bawled, snot running down his face. The shapes moved in the canyons, huge and hairy, eyes red as coals, fangs like rows of barbed wire in their mouths.
Closing in.
Hector should have taken the gun.
For the rest of his days he blames himself for what happened to his grandfather. The gun was big and heavy but he had fired it before and could have managed it then. How many times had his _abuelo_ explained about silver? Why had he not listened?
The hulking forms drew closer in the gloom, growling like rolling thunder and fear got the best of Hector. He was just a little boy.
He hid the only place he could.
Under the cart.
Hector was very small and the transom was low with just enough space for him to squeeze into and hide if he didn't move a muscle or make a sound. So he lay there petrified and listened as the werewolves came. He heard everything. Their paws padding on the ground, then the wood creaking above his head as they stomped onto the carriage, splintering the boards, savage slavering snarls and chomping teeth tearing and rending flesh and the awful meaty wet _crack_ and _snap_ of his grandfather's limbs being chewed off and devoured. At least the old man never screamed, for he never awoke.
The luck of the drunk.
No such luck for the _nino borracho_ who had to listen to the werewolves a foot above him feast on his _abuelo_ with lip-smacking relish. And the poor boy could not get away from those sounds under the wagon for he was too afraid to cover his ears, to move or even breathe.
Or cover his nose.
The smell of the werewolf would never be forgotten to him.
_Don't move or they will find you and eat you_ , he warned himself in his mind.
Then, a half-hour later when the last bone was cracked and the last bit of marrow slurped, the creatures departed, their shapes dimly seen through the wooden spokes of the wagon wheels.
They had not eaten him.
Hector would later realize the smell of the whisky in his pores had disguised the scent of his blood so the werewolves did not smell him. From that day forward the _borracho_ drank whisky every day of his life.
The sun came up before the little boy ventured forth from his hiding place. All that remained of his beloved grandfather was a few bloody rags and an empty liquor bottle. The child was alone in the vast empty desert and he wanted his mother.
It was on a Sunday when he started back. He knew this because the sound of the church bells led him back to his village.
Now those bells haunt his dreams.
_Listen, there they are again._
A faint ringing.
Pulling up the reins of his horse, the old man stops to listen, an hour out of the town he had the silver ammunition made. Sitting in his saddle, surrounded by barren expanse of Durango desertscape on all sides, the _borracho_ feels alone in the universe. He hears no bells now, just the whisper of wind in his ears, and knows the bells are a memory from his troubled sleep.
It was a dreadful dream the old man had been having the last month that made him embark on his fateful journey, set him on this path with his silver weapons. An unseen hand is at work and the _borracho_ feels a part of some greater plan. For as long as he could remember, the old man __ had drifted from town to town, flophouse to flophouse, in a drunken blur of alcoholic stupor. He'd begged for money, worked cheap jobs, robbed and stole, paid for his whisky when he could. The _borracho_ had waited for death in a ditch somewhere, fully expected it. He wanted to die. That fate became a certainty when the crooked Federales had locked the old man up, before fate and fortune had put him back on the trail re-armed with the dead _policia_ 's rifles and pistols and silver. Then came the dream. He has it over and over again, night after night. The vision is so clear and vivid it has to be more than a dream. It is his destiny; a destiny to be fulfilled. It is why, old as he is, broken down as he is, he rides on this horse today alone through the hot badlands, saddlebags laden to overflow with guns and bullets of silver, toward a destination unknown yet always certain.
The old man hears the bells in his sleep.
Sees the church.
And always, the dream is the same.
_The church bells ring faint and distant at first, then louder and more insistent until they become deafening, a distorted clanging gong like a sledgehammer on an anvil. All is blackness until the silhouette of the mission steeple appears, impossibly large, against a huge full moon hovering like a yellow and putrid watchful eye. The white adobe walls of the mission are somehow familiar, the bell tower tall and stark against a moon that is always full. Then the church begins to bleed and once it starts bleeding it does not stop. Dark drops of shiny black seep and drip out of the weathered cracks in the façade of the church like tears, until soon the pouring droplets become a flowing gush of bright red blood, hemorrhaging out the pores of the mission, until the walls are white no more, but red wet as fresh paint._
_Inside, the screams of infants._
_The blood of the innocents._
_They are in the church._
_As are the werewolves._
_The trickster moon lording over them._
_The sangre flows like a river, an endless surge of blood bursting in a tidal wave through the church doors and splashing in a great overflowing sea of gore down the hill and this is when he always wakes. _
_To dream the same dream the next night, and the next, calling him to action._
The old man knows the church. Remembers it as a boy from a place he ages ago abandoned. Understands when he reaches his destination he will find the church and knows what he will find in it.
That is why he has the silver.
Now by instinct he spurs the horse and gallops due northwest, drawing ever closer. The _borracho_ needs no map or compass to guide him, for the dream pulls him like a magnet.
Taking him home.
It was high noon, and the village was nowhere in sight.
The bullet hole in Tucker's arm was beginning to hurt something fierce and gave him another reason to be impatient to reach their destination. He needed to wash and bind it before it got infected. They'd lost time engaging with the Federales and dallying back at the stagecoach junction massacre but it couldn't be helped, though luckily it was hours until sunset. They still had time.
The four riders crossed a plain, flat and unmarred but for the ghost of a mountain range shimmering wetly in the melting waves of heat rising off the desert floor. The three gunfighters and the peasant hadn't said much for the last hour, and none of them had much to discuss. There was the _crunch_ of the hooves in the sand and the _clink_ of stirrups and _squeak_ of leather and not much else. Tucker noticed that Pilar had been preoccupied since the skirmish and refused to meet his eyes now. He wouldn't care but this girl was the key to the silver, and they could ill afford to have her get any second thoughts about taking them to her town. She may have become worried about her people now she'd seen the kind of killers they were. _Women_ , he cursed privately, _never just come out and tell you what's on their mind. _
"Spit it out," he said.
The peasant girl finally spoke. "Those Federales were after you. Why? Did you rob a bank?"
"No," stated Bodie flatly.
Fix grunted. "We don't do that."
Pilar looked at her hands clutching her reins. "What crime did you commit that they would offer such a reward?"
Tucker lit a cigarette, his jaw muscles working under the stubble. "Them Federales was dirty."
"I see."
"No. You don't. You ever heard of The Cowboys?"
" _Si. Vaqueros_. Like you."
"No, _The_ Cowboys. A gang."
A blank look.
Fix peered over at her from the saddle, and made a finger twirl above his head. "Red sashes?"
Pilar looked down, shrugging in ignorance. "Sorry."
Tucker went on. "Well, we rode with a gang for a few years went by that name. We came regular over the border from Arizona, stole cattle here, drove 'em back into the States. Rustling cattle out of Mexico across into New Mexico and Arizona is big business. Steal it here, sell it there at a discount. Cheap beef."
Pilar nodded, staring straight ahead, trying to understand. "You are rustlers and this is why the Federales wanted you."
Fix sent a projectile of chewing tobacco saliva against a rock where it exploded in a splatter of brown crud. "Wrong, your damn Federales are in on it. They get paid off. Hell, they protected our runs and covered our asses."
Bodie went on. "Last year we did a run, rustled a herd in from Durango, crossed the Rio Grande and got met up by some U.S. Marshals. Our compadres and us was caught red handed and it was a standoff. Guns loaded and drawn. The Cowboys wanted to shoot the Marshals."
Fix snorted. "We shot our compadres instead."
Tucker picked up the tale. "Wasn't going to be part of no lawmen killing. We turned ourselves in, got tried, did a stretch in Yuma, time off for saving the Marshals. But like I said, cattle rustling is big business both sides of the border, and The Cowboys put a price on our head for shooting some of their number. It's mebbe a thousand of them, just three of us, so we hightailed it to Mexico. Been down here ever since."
"Figured we'd hide out," Bodie said.
"Thought we'd be safe," said Fix.
"But The Cowboys got that reward out, and the Federales here are in league with 'em, and that's who those boys were."
Pilar smiled brightly. "So you are not really bad?"
Fix glowered and spoke softly. "Bad enough."
Tucker searched her face, curious. "It don't bother you hiring men like us?"
Pilar held his gaze. "You are dangerous men. My village needs dangerous men to drive away the evil."
That settled, they rode on.
"You was telling us about what happened in your town and what we're riding up against." Tucker adjusted his reins. "Finish your story."
The peasant girl sat in her saddle, and her eyes darkened as she told them the rest. "The second night, The Men Who Walk Like Wolves came..."
_I remember back to my village that night, and feel the fresh terror in my bones._
_Full moon high. _
_A moon so big like I have never seen. It is like a horrid yellow eye, so huge, a terrible deity watching us, unblinking, full of murder. There is no getting away from it. I see the moon outside when I lock the door and then see it hover in the window when I bolt the wooden shutters and still the bright, horrid light cuts through the slats like fingers feeling through the cracks to seize us. My mother is crying and she prays quietly, clutching her cross. I put my arms around her, and we huddle in our home, but it offers no shelter or protection. We avoid the moonlight and stay in the shadows, as if that would help. The moon casts a light that exposes my people to those who would destroy us, flushes us out of the shadows and gives us nowhere to hide. We pray for sun in vain, for mother moon rules the heavens now, and her terrible children are coming out to play. Those who wait lurking in the hills were born of her, the trickster moon, and the stories of The Men Who Walk Like Wolves have been passed down from fathers to sons in our village long past remembering. You told me they were children's tales, Mama, but how wrong you were. We were fools to think they were legend. Because now they are here._
_The terrifying wolflike baying is echoing from out in the hills. But louder and closer than yesterday. It is deafening and hurts my ears, high howling and deep growling, and there are so many. I cover Mama's ears, but know she hears. Please God, strike me deaf so at least I will not have to hear these horrible sounds._
_A pounding on the door._
_They are here._
_No, not them. Rodrigo calling for us to come out. Go back to your hut I cry, but he persists. I go to the door and crack it open and see his sweating face and behind him the town square is full of frightened people. My townsmen have all left their homes and are gathered by the fountain, carrying guns, pitchforks, machetes and torches. The old priest gestures with his arms toward the pueblo church on the hill. He makes a prayer gesture with his hands. We listen to the minister. We will hide in our church where God would surely protect us. _
_I am among the crowd, the long black tresses of my hair tumbling over my shawled bosom, walking with my mother. Led by the parson, my townspeople march up the hill, eyes fearfully looking out into the darkened hills as we hear the wolf howls. The priest prolongs our lives by bringing the entire village into the church, leading our people in a long procession up the hill through the open wooden doors. But the reverend makes all of the men leave their guns and machetes outside the chapel. There is fear and reluctance in the men's faces, but my people are simple and do as their minister bids. Giving up our guns quickened many of our deaths, but those weapons would not have saved us in the end. _
_The full moon rears its ugly head._
_The priest gathers his flock and against the protests of the more macho farmers, he cajoles and begs and leads his congregation into the chapel._
_Now, he bolts the doors with a heavy wood beam. _
_My people gather in the pews and he takes to the altar and leads our town in prayer. "Oh Heavenly Father we pray..."_
_From outside the stone and wood church, the roars of the wolves shake the night. _
_We light candles that flicker and gleam on the rows of silver candlesticks and silver plates and silver statues of the Blessed Virgin that adorn the nave. We are a devout congregation, and all extra money of the town has gone into manufacturing these offerings to our Lord. _
_Look, Pilar, see the eyes of the three gunfighters you have enlisted, how they glint with greed as I tell them of the silver. Soon it will be theirs. Have I done the right thing bringing them to it? I believe they are good men, but that silver is such temptation. I am suddenly full of doubt but Tucker tells me to go on with my story so I continue._
_The village kneels and prays, huddling together for safety as we hear the muffled howls outside the walls growing ever louder until the stained-glass windows rattle._
_Then all at once the windows explode inward and surging wind from the outside snuffs out the candles. _
_In the sudden darkness come the man-sized, hairy shapes leaping through the shattering glass, moonlight gleaming on their furry talons, rows of white fangs and red eyes. _
_The werewolves are too many to count as they fall on us praying villagers, ripping us limb from limb. _
_The priest is the first to die, his head shorn from his shoulders, rolling over and over down the aisle, spraying blood on the pews. A wolfman sinks its powerful jaws into the pastor's decapitated but still thrashing body, digging into his rib cage and chewing out his beating heart. _
_Where is Mama? I can't see her. _
_I scramble through the pews, searching for my mother, ducking the blood and limbs flying through the air and bodies rushing to and fro, many of them already torn and dying. It is pandemonium. Through the broken windows the ghastly glow from the full moon pours onto the nightmare tableau like stage lighting of a play by Satan. _
_Fangs snap strung with blood and meat. _
_Red eyes glint in the darkness. _
_Huge muscled and tailed hairy figures drag my people to the ground and feed. _
_The women are stripped of their clothes by claws that rake over their nakedness as the werewolves violently ravish the females before eating them. _
_The massive canine haunches of the beasts pound themselves between the girls' thighs and pulverize their womanhood even as they tear out their throats. _
_Children are swallowed whole. _
_The church is bathed in blood and guts during the unspeakable savagery. Screams and roars and rending flesh and bone become a deafening symphony of death echoing in the recesses of our rural church._
_I search for Mama, screaming her name, but do not see her._
_A handful of peasant men, cowarded by the carnage, abandon their dying wives and children and pry loose the wooden beam that blocks the door, fleeing into the night. They shame me._
_The unlucky few who grabbed their rifles and machetes rush back into the church to shoot or hack the werewolves, but soon discover the uselessness of such weaponry against creatures such as these. Those unfortunates swiftly join the dead, dying and devoured. _
_The others spill through the open doors and run for their lives away from the church and back to the village for their horses. They do not look back but can hear the awful roars and the screams and the ripping of meat and that is enough._
_I am among them._
_God help me, I am so scared I have abandoned my mother to the mercy of those monsters._
_When we reach the stables we find our horses disemboweled, the dead animals submerged in a lake of blackish blood filling the corral. The werewolves knew we would only be able to flee them on foot now, and could not get far. _
_But when we few look back up the hill to the defiled church, we see the big four-legged shapes up on their haunches watching us, red eyes warning us to stay put._
_We stayed put._
_This night of blood passed as all nights finally must._
_The stables were lit by the rosy threatening glow of the pre-dawn sky._
_Just before sunrise the werewolves retreated into Santa Sangre and the church doors were closed. Such was our fear, the surviving townsmen and I remained frozen in place in the stables, some soiling themselves, too afraid to budge._
_It was the longest night of our lives. We were afraid to abandon the town and our families and afraid to go back so we just waited, wept and prayed._
_The full moon waned. A pale sun rose._
_As it did, we heard strange and frightening new sounds come from inside Santa Sangre. Howls of wolves became tortured cries of men, as flesh and bones tore and cracked amidst violent thrashing and thumping noises. _
_Those of us huddling in the corral had wondered with desperate hope if the werewolves were dying or dead. _
_By now the sun was full up, and all sounds within Santa Sangre ceased as we stood below in the village watching the too quiet church. Then there was a creak as the doors opened._
_The bandits stepped out into broad daylight._
_The big men were bearded, long haired, swarthy, scarred and filthy. Their faces and hands were smeared with dried blood and all were naked. _
_The werewolves had returned to human form. Banditos. They commanded two of the village men to walk one mile southwest and bring them the horses with their clothes they had left there. Two cowering farmers hurried down the hill after receiving the bandits' instructions._
_In the corral, I listened on as the fearful men talked amongst themselves. We debated whether to find more rifles and shoot these fiends who now were of human shape. Naked, unarmed and perhaps vulnerable. _
_As if in reply to the question, we heard the anguished sobs of women that my fellow villagers grimly recognized as the cries of their daughters. _
_The bandits dragged out five naked young women through the doors of Santa Sangre, their bosoms and buttocks nude and bleeding from scratches, blood streaming down to their feet from between their legs, the result of unimaginable violations. The wolves who now were men clenched the women in front of themselves as body shields, the animalistic fiends grinning sadistically in the hot daylight. The bandits rubbed themselves obscenely against the hindquarters of the girls, and become aroused lapping their tongues in their victims' ears. _
_The girls' eyes begged their fathers to save and not abandon them, tears flowing down their bloody cheeks, and my townsmen below fell to their knees. _
_We knew then because they had our wives and daughters and families that we would do the werewolves' bidding now and forever. Whatever that may be._
_So as the day moved on, I stood alone in my hut, watching a group of browbeaten villagers carrying supplies up the hill under the baking sun toward the bandits waiting by the church._
_For the next four weeks after the bandits had taken and occupied the church they now called Santa Sangre, they enslaved my people. _
_We brought the bandits food, clothes and drink. _
_When the food ran out, one brave but foolish man, Pablo, had offered his life for his daughter and walked up the long hill through the front doors of the church and was never seen again. _
_You have their attention, Pilar. These gunslingers' eyes are wide as saucers as they hear my story. The day is hot as we ride our tired horses through the noon sun burning down, but I swear I see them shiver as if chilled. My town is close now. I recognize the hills. Do these hard men believe me? I think they are at least respectful of what they have come to fight, and they will see with their own eyes soon enough, soon enough. There, I see the distant steeple of the church, a gleam of metal off the bell. We are almost there. I must finish my tale._
_When my hut was quiet in the still of the night, I lay awake and wept and listened to the sobbing of my people from the chapel below the shadowed steeple of Santa Sangre. The moon grew fuller night by night. I knew that it would be a full moon once again in two, maybe three days, and The Men Who Walk Like Wolves would eat the last of us. I knew what I had to do._
_I sat by my mirror, took a set of scissors and began shearing my long black hair. It was my pride, and I watch sadly as the locks fall to the floor. I make faces in the glass, practicing to look like a man, not a girl, because vaqueros dangerous enough to kill the things that came to our town would not listen to a woman. Well, would you have, Senors? I thought not. I dressed in a poncho and pants I took from my neighbor's house who was dead and would not need them. The worst part was when I had to steal a horse because it meant climbing the hill to the church and getting close to the sleeping bandits, but luck was with me because the moon was clouded and it was very dark and none of the bandits stirred when I untied the horse from the post behind the cathedral without a sound._
_Today I left to find a few brave gunfighters who would help us rout this scourge. I had already named them. _
_They would be The Guns of Santa Sangre._
Chapter Seven
They reached Santa Sangre by noon, the four riding onto the ridge overlooking the village.
The sun beat down directly overhead.
Tucker eyeballed the peasant. "Stay put."
The cowboys drew their irons, dropped from their saddles onto the dirt into a low crouch and moved swiftly to the edge of the embankment to survey the scene and get the lay of the land. Peering over the edge, the gunfighters scoped out the town down in the valley below.
It was just as the girl described it. The village consisted of twenty or so wooden huts with straw and plank roofs situated in a dusty basin about five hundred yards wide between three hills leading out to the desert. There was a large fountain with a cement pinnacle rising out of the brackish water in the center of the square. A few corrals and stables, now empty, sat amidst the jumble of huts. Several outhouse shacks were visible on the edge of the village.
The church itself sat atop the tallest of the hills to the west, three hundred yards opposite them. It was constructed of white pueblo, granite stones rimming the arch of the two twenty-foot-high wooden doors. A whitewashed steeple jutted toward the sky, the cast iron mission bell visible in the opening below the large cross at its pinnacle. The chapel led back fifty yards, with two broken stained-glass windows of green and red and purple glass visible on the side facing them. From where the gunfighters crouched, around the other side of the church they could see the shadows of a dozen or more horses on the dirt and rubble of the ridge, tails swishing, tethered to an unseen post.
The large oaken doors of the church were wide open.
There was no wind. The rank air reeked of death and decay.
Tucker took the measure of what he figured would become the battlefield for the fight ahead.
Down on the desolate streets of the town, a few figures on horseback trotted and milled amidst a bunch in scraggly chickens. The cowboys squinted in the sun to make the interlopers out. The bandits were clearly men, not wolves, although they were hairy and feral enough, with beards and long hair. Their clothes were baggy and loose fitting, and they carried many guns with rifles slung over their shoulders and pistols hanging out of holsters on leather belts. Some wore sombreros, some didn't. All were barefoot in their stirrups. No villagers were in plain sight.
Up on the ridge, Tucker looked at his fellow gunmen, scratching his beard. "Those look like ordinary men to me."
Bodie surveyed the area, fingering his Sharps rifle.
"I make out about twenty horses tied to the back of that church," Fix tautly observed. "The rest of them sons of bitches must be in the mission. We're gonna need to get past them to get the silver out of there."
"What our move?" Bodie asked.
Fix looked to Tucker as they usually did.
"Let's ride down and take out the bandits in the town. Their friends will have to come through the church door to get us, n' if we dig in we can pick 'em off as they come out."
"We have the high ground right here," Fix said. "We could pick off them sumbitches below and still be in good position to get the rest when they come out of the church."
"We only get clean shots at a few in the village from here, and there may be more we can't spot. Plus the church is too far. We're a little out of range to make our shots count."
"Yeah, you're right. Best ride down and get 'em in our killing field."
The easygoing Swede shrugged. "Sounds as good a plan as any."
Tucker smiled at his friends. "Just think, a few hours ago this morning we were dead broke wondering what to do with ourselves, and now we're all a few bullets shy from being rich men."
"You're forgettin' two things." Fix chewed his plug and spat.
"Which are?"
"First we may all get our asses shot off."
"What's the other?"
"Bitch may be lying and there may be no silver."
"One way to find out."
Fix grinned. The gunfighters moved away from the embankment in a crouch, keeping their heads down so they wouldn't be spotted. They rose when they reached their horses tethered out of sight a safe distance away, grabbed their saddle horns and swung back up in their mounts. Tucker drew his repeater rifle out of his saddle holster and checked it. "Everybody loaded and locked down?"
"Check," said Fix, cocking the Winchester Model 12 pump shotgun in his wiry hands.
"I'm good." Bodie smiled, pinwheeling the two Remington pistols around his forefingers, spinning the guns back into his sideholsters.
"Let's go amongst 'em." Tucker nodded, reining his horse around and starting for the trail leading down the hill into the village. "We got some killin' to do."
Pilar rode up, blocking their way. "No. Wait," she said. "I have something I must show you first. Ride this way." Tucker, Fix and Bodie regarded one another and shrugged, then trotted off after the departing Mexican. The peasant rode with them a short distance down an arroyo on the near side of the ridge. The path wound through granite boulders and green verdant patches of mesquite. Tucker smelled water and saw sunlight glint off a nearby creek through the breaks in the rocks.
The trail spilled out at a small brick building of the local blacksmith's shop. It was deserted. Wooden beams and planks formed a roof over the square bunker of a structure that was covered with char. A large blacked steel chimney rose from the center, but there was no smoke. Inside the large opening on the wall they could see the shadows of metal-making equipment. Cords of firewood were piled behind the rear wall.
The cowboys sat in their saddles as the peasant girl went inside. She gestured for them to follow, so they dismounted. Tucker was antsy, ready for action, and he resented the delay. Right now, the bandits were in the church and only a few were in the town, and the time was right to strike. In a few minutes, many more might be outside and the odds might no longer be stacked in their favor. One glance at his fellow gunfighters' expressions showed him they felt the same. "It's her dime," he grumbled sideways to the other two. They stepped under the straw awning and stood amid the sledgehammers, anvils, kilns and chains littering the dirt floor of the shed. Pilar was gesturing at the implements. "When you get the silver, _senors_ , you must bring it here and we will melt it down to make the bullets." The beautiful girl showed them a bullet-making press beside the big cast iron pot placed on a rack for heating over a wooden fire.
"Yeah, sure, right," Fix said.
The gunslingers skulked under the overhang and threw one another bemused glances, humoring the peasant, because none of the three cowboys believed the story about wolfmen or the silver bullets required to kill them. They just wanted to shoot their way past the bandits, grab the silver, get in and get out. But the girl had something else in mind. "You are wounded, senor, in the arm. I have medical supplies."
Tucker accepted the bandages, needle and thread that Pilar handed him. "It ain't serious," he mumbled, but went to work treating the wound.
The girl was not through. "You must all be very hungry. _Comida_. We have many hours until sundown and you should have something to eat before your great battle ahead."
Tucker's stomach grumbled. The female made sense. He had not eaten that day and neither had the rest and they could get pinned down for hours trading fire with the bandits if things went south, and that was activity not best engaged on an empty stomach. A little food, then to work directly.
"Wouldn't say no to no grub," Bodie said.
"A man fights better on a full stomach," agreed Fix.
"Thanks, ma'am," Tucker nodded. "Bein' as how many of them sumbitches is out there this meal could be our last."
"Rest your _caballos_. I will cook for you."
The cowboys went outside and tied their horses to the hitching post. They stretched their legs and came back inside the blacksmith's shop, getting out of the brutally beating sun. They passed a bottle of whisky. Pilar built a fire under the kettle. She went to a wooden storage box and brought out cut pieces of a freshly slaughtered chicken, potatoes and carrots, already chopped, and put some ingredients in the pot. Then she poured it full of water from a bucket, adding a fistful of spices from canisters in the box. While the stew heated, she brought the men a loaf of bread and a jug of water out of a closet. The gunfighters dug in as she cooked.
"Lucky for us you had some chow handy," Tucker offered, covering his mouth politely as he talked and ate.
The girl smiled knowingly. "I had gathered provisions for you last night before I rode out. I knew the men I found, I prayed to find, would be hungry when they got to the village and would need their strength."
"It's good to be prepared."
" _Si_." As Pilar kneeled by the pot, all of them were watching her ass.
" _Senors_ , now you have seen the church. How will you get the silver out of there?"
"Shoot our way out if we have to," Tucker replied.
"Your bullets will not kill them. Remember this."
"If we put them in the right place they will," Fix mused dryly. Tucker and Fix chuckled with him.
That made the girl whirl around in alarm. "You must heed me! The Men Who Walk Like Wolves are not harmed by regular bullets, only silver! I have seen this with my own eyes! This is why you must get the silver and bring it here! Only then when we melt it down—"
"-into silver bullets we can shoot into the heart of the werewolf," Tucker interrupted her. "Yeah, yeah I know, ma'am. You told us about twenty times on the ride. We'll get the silver. You best believe that. Don't worry your pretty head."
"I trust you." She smiled and the simple hope and belief in her eyes made Tucker feel bad.
"I know you do," he replied regretfully.
The blacksmith's shop filled with smoke. The shootists ate their plates of chow quietly, weapons beside them.
By the time they looked up, the girl had left.
The little girl woke.
She had been sleeping with her mother's arms cradled around her. While those aged arms tried to be gentle, they held her like a vise. The child's name was Bonita and she was eight. Her shiny black hair, so much like her sister's, tumbled down her brown angelic face, bleary from sleep. She had hoped when she awoke she would be back in her bed in the hut and none of this had happened, but Bonita saw all the haggard, starving, terrified faces of the villagers and knew that her nightmare was real.
They were in the back room of the church, stockaded like animals.
Where was her sister Pilar, Bonita wondered, why had she not come?
She will, the child repeatedly assured herself.
Pilar had told her she would.
On that terrifying first night when the monsters came, her big sister had grabbed her and carried her to safety in the church as everywhere the monsters were tearing apart the people from the town. Thankfully, Bonita saw nothing. Pilar had clamped her hands over her tiny eyes saying _don't look child_ but the little girl could hear and that frightened her badly. The hideous sounds of the man wolves' terrible roars and people screaming and the wet ripping created pictures in her mind that were bad enough. She felt herself gripped tightly against her big sister's large soft bosom and they were moving swiftly and then there was the slam of a door and things quieted and Pilar whispered she could open her eyes. They were in a room and it was very dark but in the moonlight her sister's face hovered above her own, wet with tears of fear and trying to be brave as she stroked her sibling's hair tenderly.
"You must hide here and not come out, _comprende_?"
Bonita, who always did what Pilar said, had nodded.
"Do not make a sound, not matter what."
"I won't."
"I must go."
"No!"
Bonita had wept and begged and hugged Pilar but her older sister sobbed and gently pried her small fingers from their desperate grip on her shoulders.
"Listen to me, _nina_. I promise I will come back for you. I will never leave you but must go and get help, then come back for you. I need you to be brave. Can you do that?"
Her big sister was everything to the child. Always, the little girl looked up to her, tried to dress like her, behave like her, be good like her and Bonita would always do what Pilar said to do. She promised to be brave and to hide until Pilar returned. Then her older sibling gave her a loving, urgent hug and closed the closet door.
She had not seen her since.
When the fear came, as it did more and more lately, Bonita told herself that Pilar always kept her promises. She would return. And everything would be well.
The child had not been able to hide for long. The next day the monsters were gone but there were horrible men in their place. They threw the villagers into the back room of the church and used it as a place to hold them. Bonita was discovered in the closet immediately. _It was not my fault_ she would tell her sister when she came, because she would never want Pilar to think she had broken a promise.
Her stomach ached with hunger.
Against the walls, the other villagers sat, knees drawn up, heads down. Their faces were emaciated and haggard and their eyes were black holes from the diet of fear they lived on. Nobody spoke, not anymore. Their number grew less every few days as the hairy men would come in and grab one at random; dragged out kicking, begging, weeping, that villager would not be seen again. Bonita would pray it was not her turn and cover her ears against the screaming she would hear behind the door—but thankfully the cries did not last long.
Pilar would come.
She never lied.
The room stank with the odor of people who had not bathed in a month. The closet she had hid in weeks before had been turned into a latrine with a slop bucket inside where they would go to relieve themselves. This became less frequent because the bad men barely fed them. Crusts of bread and water and a few pieces of slaughtered pigs from the village were tossed in once in awhile. Swarms of flies buzzed around the smelly closed door.
Bonita huddled in her mother's arms but those arms had grown steadily weaker over the passing days. When she looked in her parent's face she saw a pale tight mask lined with pain and terror. For the first weeks, her mother had prayed softly and brushed the little girl's hair over and over, but lately those prayers had stopped and Bonita's hair grew tangled and unkempt. It fell to the child who was holding onto her mother to comfort her parent, not the other way around.
_My sister will come, don't cry, Mama._
_She promised._
And promises are to be kept.
A child's faith sustained her because for her it was a simple fact.
The bolt on the outside of the storeroom door rattled and slammed aside.
Bonita's guts clenched.
The door swung open and one of the hairy men stood there, sniffing and glowering like an animal. He had come for one of them. The people cringed as his black eyes swung over them, back and forth.
Settling on Bonita.
It was her turn, she knew.
He would take her from the room never to return.
_Hurry, Pilar._
The bandit's boots creaked on the old floorboards as he walked over and towered above her. Bonita felt her mother's arms tighten but they were parchment thin and had no strength.
The little boy Raul who sat beside her looked at her face so she said goodbye to him with her eyes.
The hairy one suddenly reached down with a filthy hand, grabbing hair. The boy's, not hers. Raul shrieked as he was lifted up by the head off the ground and carried like a chicken out the door with the bandit.
The door slammed closed and the bolt was thrown and Bonita covered her ears to the terrible high-pitched screaming, but as usual it did not last long.
Pilar had never felt so filthy. She had ridden for ten hours in the hot sun and dust and was coated with disgusting layers of sweat and caked with the grime and the mud she had smeared all over herself for a disguise. She stank. The girl felt like a rotten vegetable and not even like a woman. She was strong of heart, had braved much the last day, but she was also female and her dirtiness buried her self-esteem. She could bear it no longer.
The deep creek lay ahead.
In her mind, she could already feel the cold, refreshing waters on her skin. It would only take five minutes. The men were eating, behind her in the shed, and would not discover her if she bathed fast. The girl threw a cautious glance over her shoulder and saw nobody had followed her. She was alone. Reaching the edge of the waters, she disrobed quickly behind a big rock, pulling her baggy shirt over her head and when she loosened the wrapped cloth over her bosom, her heavy breasts tumbled out. Stepping out of her pants, she tossed the foul-smelling discarded clothes into a heap behind the rock, and walked stark naked in the waist-deep water with a shuddering gasp of relief. Her flesh tingled as she dunked her head beneath the rippling surface, hair soaked, re-emerging and spitting water. The rush of the current felt good and cold against her breasts, and her big brown nipples crinkled like little pebbles. She scrubbed hard. Everywhere. With a desperate exhilaration, she used her hands to cleanse her face, her armpits, her stomach, the thick bristle between her legs and her buttocks, washing herself top to bottom. Soon her skin felt smooth, supple and voluptuous again. Pilar began to feel renewed, a flesh and blood girl once more, and the simple act of getting washed up cleared her mind and removed her dread along with the accumulated dirt. She stood up on the slippery rocks in water just above her knees and splashed herself with the creek runoff, shaking her head as her sopping hair smacked her neck. The dry desert heat felt good on her breasts and thighs, drying the warming cold water dripping down her naked body. She could stand here forever.
And that is when she saw him.
The giant they called Bodie.
Pilar's rump had been turned to the trail back to the blacksmith's shop and she had not seen or heard him come down. Now there he was just standing on the bank with the big fool lopsided grin on his lantern jaw, his eyes ogling her with unbridled lust. With a startled cry, Pilar crossed her arms over her exposed chest and covered her privates, turning her backside away from him, bent down in embarrassment to disguise her nudity—but he could see everything. To make matters worse, the girl slipped and lost her balance, taking her arms away from her body as she clambered up, so he saw her nude all over again. And that was when she saw the place where she had dropped her garments was empty. He was holding her clothes with a dirty smirk. She faced him and stood bare-assed and dripping. Her beautiful brown eyes flashed in alarm but she held the grinning cowboy's gaze while he eyeballed her boldly up and down.
" _Por favor_ ," she whispered.
He unbuckled his trousers.
She struggled to keep looking at his eyes.
He teasingly held the clothes out for her a few feet away and she had no choice but to remove her hand from her bosom.
"You shore are purty," Bodie said.
This was it.
He would take her.
They would all take her.
Maybe at least they would kill the werewolves when they were finished.
"Bodie!" Tucker barked. Both Pilar and Bodie turned to see Tucker and Fix sitting on their horses, armed and ready to go. They had the Swede's horse with them.
"Shit," Bodie said.
"We got work," said the leader.
"Man needs a little relaxation," mumbled the giant cowboy.
"Mount up."
"I was about to."
"Your horse, idiot."
With a petulant scowl of disappointment, Bodie tossed Pilar her clothes. He heaved a huge sigh, turned and stomped up the trail like a big baby to where his comrades sat on their horses. The girl quickly ducked behind a boulder on the shore and got dressed. The Swede swung into the saddle of his horse, buttoning his fly as they headed back up the trail. Tugging on her drawers and slipping her feet into her sandals, still dripping wet, the peasant girl took off in a run to catch up with the gunslingers before they rode down into the village. She got to the top of the arroyo back at the blacksmith's shop right as the three riders were turning their horses around to shove off up the trail.
In the gap, Tucker reined his stallion around and blocked the Mexican from getting back on her horse. "Wait for us here and when we get the silver we'll come back." His eyes were hard but she guessed he was just looking out for her. This was the dangerous business of killing and was the whole reason she had brought professionals of their fearsome trade to this place. She knew nothing of gunplay, and he was right, she would just get in the way and what good would she be to her mother and sister dead.
"Good luck," was all she said.
The peasant watched them ride out, her face bright with pure hope and faith.
Backs to her in their saddles, out of earshot of the girl behind them, the hard men shared a smirk.
"Good luck is right, because none of us got any intention of coming back," Fix murmured.
"If or when we get any silver, we be long gone," Bodie said.
"We got to get the silver first," Tucker pointed out.
"That's a fact," said Fix.
The sun was high and brutally hot as the men rode up. The trail passed by the embankment where they had scouted the town, then widened as it turned into a downgrade leading to the western edge of the village. The three rode slow, their weapons close at hand, the only sounds the clop of hooves, occasional snort of their horses, tumble of dislodged stones and the squeak of saddle leather. They were on full alert, their eyes moving left and right in a clockwork scan. The time for killing had come, and this was what they were good at and all talk ceased, because as the adrenaline began to pump and their senses became sharp, the three were one. Gradually, the trail spilled out at the base of the valley and put them eye level with the first shacks of the place they had come to clean up.
The village lay ahead.
The gunfighters rode fearlessly down into the town and past the adobe huts and wood fence corrals of the settlement that was quiet as a cemetery. It was preternaturally silent. The three rode side by side in a flank formation. Then they saw movement. Five bandits rode their horses around the area, eyeballing them. The big hairy men in the loose-fitting clothes and cut-off vests were armed to the teeth in their dusty weathered saddles, their open shirts showing the coarse black hair on their unwashed chests. Swarming flies buzzed around them. Their horses seemed cowed and fearful of their owners, eyes wide with fear. Tucker, Bodie and Fix just kept riding, like nothing was happening. Five more bandits appeared as if out of nowhere. Now there were ten. The gunfighters rode on through the town, hands near their pistols and rifles, waiting for the banditos to make a move, but the slimy brigands just watched them curiously, and assembled. Tucker had seen enough wolves in his life to admit to himself these scum shared the same wary, head bobbing, unblinking way of regarding a man.
Bodie chuckled. "Wolves who walk like men, my ass. These are just plain old bandits, boys. But I can see how the villagers might've gotten that impression bein' as these varmints are mangier than any coyotes I can recall."
Fix clicked his teeth. "We don't need to waste the silver on bullets, that'd be too good for 'em."
Tucker's gaze moved left and right. "There's sure a lot of 'em."
Then all of a sudden the Jefe was right in front of them, straddling his horse and blocking their way. He was a huge, fat Mexican man of indeterminate age with long hair streaked with gray and ammunition belts crisscrossing his chest. He looked very strong despite his girth. "What are you doing, here, _Senors_?" He spoke in a gravelly sing song voice, grinning wide to reveal a full mouthful of gold teeth glinting in the sun.
"Just riding through," Tucker said.
"You can ride lots of places, yet you are here," said the Mexican.
"It's a place as good as any."
Tucker held the Jefe's visceral gaze. Another bandito rode up. This one held himself to his saddle with just his powerful knees, because his hands were occupied gripping the naked ass of a nude village girl facing him in the saddle, his hands pumping her buttocks slowly and deeply up and down on his hips. He was not wearing pants. The unclad girl submitted passively to her rape, her body lacerated with bleeding cuts, sores and bruises from being scratched and chewed. Her bare breasts draped against his chest, arms hung at her sides, head limp on his shoulder, eyes wide and glazed, brutalized past caring.
Tucker, Bodie and Fix watched the spectacle in disgust, the true horror of the situation sinking in.
The bandit eyeballed them with a drooling grin as he finished with the girl, holding fistfuls of her bare butt, slapping her hips onto his harder and harder as he started to grunt. His thighs tightened, and veins in his neck bulged as he roared with release.
The gunfighters stared on in utter mortification, fingers tickling the stocks of their holstered pistols.
Holding their gaze lasciviously, the bandit slowly smiled, getting hard again inside the girl. Holding her limp thighs, he started humping her in the saddle slowly and lustfully all over again. He might as well have been screwing a corpse.
The three gunslingers regarded one another with cold murder.
The Jefe grinned at them with a wide mouth of gold teeth. "Come with us, amigos. Drink. Be friendly." He smelled like a dog. The cowboys wrinkled their nose at his stench. "I am Mosca. These are my men. This is Calderon. He is my second."
Tucker kept his eyes on the bandits who now surrounded them on all sides, tightening his horse up next to Fix and Bodie's saddles. Leaning in, he scratched his nose and whispered, "I savvy we get inside that church, see if that silver is there at all and this ain't no big goose chase."
His companions nodded slowly.
Tucker looked at Mosca and tipped his hat. "Lead the way."
The Jefe grinned, and spurred his horse. "Follow me."
So the three gunfighters urged their horses and followed, escorted by Mosca and Calderon in the lead and the nine bandits to their rear. Tucker knew they were handily flanked fore and aft, but they had to play it out. As they trod through the square of the besieged village, the cowboy looked left and right at the eerily deserted huts and shacks. It had the stink and ennui of a graveyard. Give up hope all ye who enter here. Vultures were everywhere, the foul carrion birds strolling to and fro unchallenged down the streets and byways of the empty town like they owned the place, the true citizens of the village now. The buzzards picked at pieces of flesh and bloody shags of meat that they happened upon. They didn't fight over them as such scavenger birds usually did, because there was plenty of meat to be found. In the sky overhead, a dozen vultures circled in constant circumference, their shadows falling over the men's hats.
The seconds ticked by into minutes as the group rode patiently through town, to the metronome beat of the horses' hooves.
Tucker looked ahead past the heads of the two brigands. Down the dirt street, the cowboy saw the stark white pueblo church looming above on the hill, a place of iniquity drawing closer like inescapable destiny. Vultures perched on the steeple and rooftops of the mission congregated like crows on telegraph wires, from this distance resembling rows of black teeth against the blinding whitewash of the adobe structure. They were in there, the villagers that were left, and his stomach clenched in dread anticipating what they would witness inside the church minutes from now. It was going to be bad. He remembered too well the horrors of the stagecoach junction massacre they had come upon earlier that morning, and this would be worse. But the silver was in there. All they had to do was get it and somehow get out.
Perhaps the bandits meant to kill them once they had passed the open wooden doors of the mission that beckoned like a gaping mouth up on the ridge, but somehow Tucker doubted that was the plan. Mosca and his men could easily have opened fire on them right here down in the square. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the hairy Mexican banditos riding patently behind, making no move for their many guns, though their present position gave them the perfect opportunity to shoot the gunslingers in the back.
The one ahead on the right called Calderon looked back at Tucker and winked, the up and down movement of the horse doing his work for him as he pleasured himself inside the half-dead meat puppet of the girl in his lap, her arms thrown limply over his shoulders in a grotesque mockery of a lover's embrace. The bandit was a lean, feral vulpine man with a long snout of nose who bore a natural resemblance to a rabid coyote. Tucker broke his dull, ugly gaze and stole laconic glances left and right to Bodie and Fix. His confederates were staring straight ahead at the mission they called Santa Sangre, braced for battle, hands on their pistols. Like it or not, they were all about to find out why it was now called Saint Blood.
The gunfighters trotted with the bandits up the paved hill to the pueblo church of Santa Sangre. The heat seemed to get hotter the higher they ascended. The upgrade was a wide gravel path that rose farther and farther above the opposite embankment, and the cluttered sprawl of village huts shrank below as the shadow of the steeple fell over them.
A broad ridge about fifty yards wide formed a natural perimeter around the religious structure. The ground was rock and dirt, and they all rode around the back of the church. They dismounted and tethered their horses on the rail in the shade behind the cathedral. About twenty other horses, saddles and bridles were tied to the same hitching post.
The cowboys exchanged glances, now having a good idea of the actual number of the opposing forces. The three had the bullets, if they had the luck.
Tucker saw the early afternoon sun moving down the sky in the direction of the distant Durango Mountains. He whispered to his comrades. "Savvy we got five hours till nightfall and the full moon."
The stark sunlight was blinding and bleached the outside of the church blank white, but inside the open oaken doors the interior of the cathedral was pitch black. The bandits stood back to allow their guests to enter the doorway.
When the three gunfighters set foot inside the church, the stench nearly pitched them backward. It was the disgusting, gorge-rising odor of dead meat, rot and death in the stifling enclosed quarters. Tucker, Bodie and Fix stepped into the nave with utter revulsion. Their spurs jingled, ringing through the catacombs of Santa Sangre. Diffused light filtered through the broken stained-glass windows into an area more animal cave than chapel. The silhouettes of more than a dozen bandits hunkered and sprawled in the pews. Some chewed on bones. Others played cards. Still others slept curled up like dogs, snoring loudly. One of them urinated against a far wall. Sunlight glinted on the dull metal of guns, and blades of knives and machetes.
Tucker's eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.
Chunks of human meat and flesh, both fresh and decayed, were piled everywhere on the tiles. Bones and skulls, gnawed clean, had been heaped waist high. The blood pooling on the floor was shiny and wet or black as dried paint. Flies swarmed in a steady maddening drone. Gore dripped. In one corner of the defiled abattoir of the church once known as Santa Tomas, several naked young women sat cowering in the darkness, hugging their knees. They shivered, bruised and limp, eyes dead, too broken to care as they waited to be used at the whim of the bandits.
"Lordy," whispered Tucker.
"Where are the rest of the villagers?" Bodie wondered.
"Reckon they're that wet stuff your boots is standing in," Fix observed grimly, nodding at the huddled group of bare, savaged girls. "They all that's left, what's left of 'em."
In the murky darkness, shiny things gleamed. The shimmering came from glinting metal objects placed all around the room. It was silver. Statues. Candlesticks. Plates. The precious metal shined regal and bright in the cathedral, and the reflections flashed in the eyes of the three gunfighters.
What they had come for.
The blasting light from the sun through the doorway behind them silhouetted the three cowboys and cast their shadows thirty feet ahead down the aisle as they walked tall through the grisly pews. The gunslingers' eyes were riveted on the silver treasures before them. Their lips parted and drew breath at the riches they beheld. The shiny beams danced on their faces, and they forgot the unspeakable horror all around them as they approached the altar, hypnotized by the glory of the silver, more than they could have dreamed. The treasure was actual. Tucker saw the wonder in Fix and Bodie's eyes, silver reflected light rippling on their faces in liquid refraction, like the sun off a river. A man would never have an opportunity like this again. The gunfighter wanted rid of this place. He felt hatred for the bandits and outrage for the people, but he was not responsible for their fate. This was more money than he could ever spend. _Forget the stench, put it out of your mind_ , he told himself. _Don't look at those young girls, you can't do nothing for them. It will be all over for them soon, anyway. Keep your mind on the silver. Don't listen to their wails and sobbing, people suffer in this world. You didn't put them here. _
_But you can get them out,_ a stubborn voice in his head told him as he forced it into the back of his conscience, telling himself he had to get the three of them out first. He had one big problem, and as he exchanged glances with his fellow gunsels, he saw they were thinking the same damn thing.
How the hell were they going to get the silver out of there?
Well those stinking scum damn sure weren't going to just let them walk out with it. Tucker automatically gauged the killing ground and did some fast calculations in his head. The others were doing the same. The three gunfighters communicated wordlessly by directional eye movements and subtle hand signals to work out the strategy of the pending shoot-out that could be seconds away. Most of the bandits now appeared to be behind them, near the front of the church. A finger point and open palm gesture by Fix. There were but two of the animals loitering behind the tabernacle they had to worry about and the gunslingers would pick them off first. Tucker nudged his chin. There were about fourteen pews, which would afford them ample cover and shield them from the bullets. Bodie and Fix imperceptively nodded. An eye movement from Bodie. The naked girls in the corner would be directly in the line of fire. Tucker didn't like that, but they did not have time to get them out of harm's way, didn't have time, period. Fix reached up to scratch his nose and drew his thumb across his throat. Tucker felt terrible, those poor girls who had suffered so much were dead meat when the bullets flew. He tried to tell himself they were just being put out of their misery. _Keep your mind on the silver, and at least you'll be killing those bastards for them._
Then the silver was suddenly swallowed in shadow when a wall of blackness descended as the big oaken doors were slammed shut behind them with a resounding _boom._
The gunfighters turned, hands by their guns.
The Jefe and the bandits stood at the other end of the aisle by the closed doors with their arms crossed. On both sides, the other bandits, acting drunk or sleepy, were rising from their spoor to regard their new visitors. It seemed they were salivating. Mosca grinned, flashing rows of gold teeth, and spread his arms wide in generosity and welcome. " _Mi casa es su casa_."
Tucker spat. "You're a real nice bunch of guys."
Mosca winked. "Stay and party with us. Have a drink. You want a woman?"
Bodie winced at the sight of the brutalized females. "We'll pass." Some of the bandits standing nearby were sniffing the scent of the gunslingers. Fix shot one of them a look that made them retreat fast.
The Jefe spoke softly. "I ask you again, amigos, what have you come here for?"
Tucker looked at Bodie and Fix, then looked at the bandit leader and came right out with it. "Silver."
The bandit leader walked down the aisle of the nave between the pews, nodding, eyeing the treasures of the tabernacle. " _Si_. _Entiendo_. Much silver. _Mucho dinero_. You want this, _si_?"
"Yup."
"Then take it." Mosca shrugged affably. "It is yours."
Tucker kept his hands near his pistols. They were outnumbered ten to one. "Just like that?" he said.
" _Si_ , just like that. Take it and go."
The gunslingers exchanged glances.
"Thanks," said Bodie.
"With our regards." With a wave of his arm, Mosca gestured for his men to open the front doors of the church. " _Hombres_ , fetch the saddlebags of the _caballeros_ so they may take the silver." A group of bandits lifted the beam and the oaken doors swung wide, blasting daylight into the church, as they went outside. The Jefe just stood with his arms crossed, presiding over the slaughterhouse of a defiled cathedral scattered with piles of human remains, bones and drying blood that festooned the walls, floors and pews.
"What's the catch?" asked Tucker.
Mosca shrugged. "We have no use of silver."
"So we heard," Fix quipped.
The Jefe chuckled. "Or gold. Or _dinero_. Men like us, we take what we want. Nobody stops us. What need have we of _dinero_?" The bandito walked up to Tucker, seeming to sniff him. His breath was foul and canine, steaming in the air, but his eyes were powerful and primal as a wild coyote and owned the gunslinger's gaze with the respect of the strong. "You have killed many men, _si_?"
"Reckon."
"And you. And you." Mosca nodded at Bodie, and then at Fix. "I see this. You are cruel men, yes, and strong. _Muy gusta_. So I make you this proposition. Ride with us."
The gunfighters exchanged laconic glances.
"Join us," spoke the Jefe.
The leader of the gunfighters spoke for all three. "Thanks, but we ride alone."
"Lone wolves, eh?"
"Something like that."
The bandit leader threw his head back and laughed. His men laughed. It was contagious. Even the gunslingers joined in and laughed.
"Lone wolves." Mosca gave an old, knowing smile. "We know about wolves, amigos, and because of this I tell you it is true what they say. Lone wolves are easy targets."
"We'll take our chances." Fix's jaw slowly worked on a chaw of tobacco, measured and deliberate.
"Join us, amigos! You will never be alone. And you will live forever. Be free. But the choice is yours." Three bandits came back through the open doors of Santa Sangre carrying the gunfighters' saddlebags, and dropped them at the floor of their owners' feet. "Your silver." The Jefe gestured to the tabernacle. "Take it all."
Wary and incredulous, Tucker, Bodie and Fix eyed one another and the bandits. The offer seemed good. With one hand near a gun, each one of the gunfighters began using the other hand to grab the candlesticks and stuff them in their saddlebags. They whispered to one another out of earshot of their hosts.
"This is too easy," said Fix.
"What's the catch?" said Bodie.
"It's got to be a trick. They're screwing with us," the other replied.
"Let's take it one step at a time," said Tucker. "First get the silver. Then worry about getting out the door."
Fix almost grinned, tobacco juice on his bad teeth. "We're rich, boys."
"If we live to spend it," observed Bodie.
"Reckon," Tucker added.
When they had taken all of the candlesticks, they greedily grabbed the shining silver platters, their adrenaline beginning to pump. Nobody stood in their way. No one interfered. The chapel was silent save for the clinking of the metal they removed and the quiet mewling of the lost girls in the corner. Their saddlebags were nearly full and brimming with silver before the cowboys got to the back of the alter and lifted the two silver statues of the Virgin Mary.
Then they heard the sobbing.
Tucker looked at Fix, who looked at Bodie, and they put down the precious statues and walked to the small room in back of the tabernacle. There was a wooden door and that door had a small slot. When they opened the panel, through the hole they saw the fifteen surviving villagers of the town locked in the room. The starving people were still alive, just barely, but badly beaten, held captive and imprisoned in the back of the church.
"Damn," whispered Tucker.
"You said it," said Bodie.
"Those sons of bitches. They're gonna eat those people," choked Fix.
Crammed in the small back room of the church like human cattle in a stockade, the peasants saw the hard sympathetic faces of the shaken gunmen through the slot in the door. They fell to their knees begging and pleading pathetically for help in their native tongue. The unfortunates' eyes were horror holes. "Please...please...please... Help us... Save us." The gunfighters heard the words over and over, unable to tear their gaze from the miserable wretches and the three briefly forgot about the silver.
A voice behind them broke the spell. "Forget about them. Those are not men. They are sheep. They are the weak. We are the strong. The strong eat the weak, as wolves eat sheep." Mosca shut the slot on the door. "You three are strong. You must join us. Here you belong, amigos. With us."
The gunfighters turned to face the Jefe. Tucker spoke first. "What's going to happen to them?"
"What happens to all sheep, amigos...the slaughter." Mosca's reply was cold and heartless.
Fix bristled. "Those aren't sheep. Them's people. You have everything they own. That's enough. Let 'em go."
"Join us or take the silver and go, amigos, before I change my mind." A malignant threat entered the tone of the pitiless bandit leader's voice as his grin became strained and tense, disgusted by the cowboys' empathy he clearly took for a sign of weakness.
The gunfighters regarded one another. They had seen all manner of human cruelty wherever they rode but had never come across the raw savagery that lay before them in Santa Sangre. It stirred a buried humanity deep in their hardened hearts. In their minds were branded the faces of the captive villagers behind the door and the gruesome portents of their imminent fate were splattered all around the church. It was the worst thing they had ever seen. The cowboys wanted to do something. They wanted to draw their pistols and murder all the bandits. But the silver statues were in their hands and more money than they had ever seen stuffed their saddlebags. A terrible choice tore their consciences. But they were just three.
The Jefe studied them closely, his feral, animal eyes sizing them up and taking their measure, seeing what they were made of.
Bodie looked at Fix.
Fix looked at Tucker.
Tucker eyed both of them. "There's too many of 'em. We can't help these people. Let's go."
Decision made.
Walking to their saddlebags on the floor with the empty clink of the spurs on their boots in the silent cathedral, they packed the statues of the Blessed Virgin in the treasure-filled pouches and lashed them tight.
Chapter Eight
Pilar watched the church.
It sat across the village up on the hill, too quiet.
The girl lay on her belly on the opposite ridge above the valley, peering from behind the rocks, occasionally glancing through the binoculars Tucker left her. All was still. She waited for gunshots, for screams, for some disturbance within the walls of any kind, but for nearly an hour there had been nothing. The last movement she had seen was the two bandits coming outside and taking the gunfighters' saddlebags from their tethered horses behind Santa Sangre, then going back inside. The big oaken doors had closed, and she had gotten a bad feeling. Her unease had begun as she had watched the cowboys ride up the hill, surrounded by so many bandits, and saw with her own eyes how outnumbered they were. Below the white adobe walls and steeple, it was so still there was not even a bird. Her town lay at the base of the hill, quiet as a grave. The girl caught herself fingering her crucifix and noticed that she had been praying beneath her breath, unaware she was doing so. Lifting the binoculars to her eyes again, she scanned the front of the church through the eyepiece, the walls looming big and flat and the oaken doors tightly closed in the circle view of the twin lenses. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing for her to do but wait and pray.
Probably, she figured, they were loading up the silver. Perhaps no gunfire was a good sign. It would take them thirty minutes, she guessed, to take all the treasure from the church and get it loaded up on their horses. But would the werewolves, or the bandits they became during the day, just let them walk out of there with the loot? Perhaps they would, because the creatures knew it could kill them and wanted it gone. Just giving it to the cowboys was an easy solution. But the evil ones were cunning and might know the gunfighters meant to kill them with it. Then they would scourge the shootists where they stood with their knives and machetes and that might have happened already. Now she was thinking too much, and fresh doubts about the soundness of her plan filled her with dread. More likely, the gunslingers would have to shoot their way out, but that hadn't happened yet. Pilar was driving herself crazy imagining the different things that could be occurring inside.
Get your hands busy, she told herself.
Keeping her head down, the peasant girl slid out of view of the church and rose to her feet. She brushed dirt and pebbles off her baggy clothes, and trod down the path toward the blacksmith's shop nestled in the gully. Her time would be better spent preparing the fire and the kiln and the tools, so that if and when the time came and the three bad men returned with the silver, they could set to work directly in making the bullets.
She glanced up at the sun, hanging at two o'clock in the sky. Sunset and moonrise lay about five hours off, she gauged, and there was much to do. Fear stabbed her insides as she walked toward the shed. This was her village's last chance. It was the last full moon of the month and she had a terrible feeling that the werewolves would kill everyone tonight. So many things could go wrong. The gunfighters could already be dead inside the church. Even if they got out with the silver, their hands on all that treasure could easily tempt them from returning with it to the blacksmith's shop and they may just ride off, stealing the priceless valuables to become rich men and live like kings, breaking their promise to her.
That was the chance she took.
It was the only chance she'd had.
God would provide.
She entered the shed, glad of the cool shade. As she stood in the doorway, she gazed at the big cast iron pot, to be used for the melting of the silver, sitting empty. The anvil sat beside it. The sledgehammer. The dangling chains and andirons and molds hanging from the wooden buttresses. This was all they had, all the equipment that was at their disposal to wage war on The Men Who Walk Like Wolves. The food dishes of the gunfighters sat on the ground, and the girl experienced a twinge of loneliness seeing them. Be strong, Pilar told herself.
There was nothing to do but wait.
Restless and reflective, the girl somberly wandered over to a corner of the shed with her sleeping roll and the small tied quilt of personal belongings she had taken from her home before dawn, to have them with her for comfort. She had figured she'd need to stay up at the blacksmith's shop during the gunfighters' visit to the town and had wanted a few things with her. She untied the blanket and laid it open. There was her cross of Lord Jesus. Her wristlet of turquoise beads she had been given by her grandmother. A small miniature of her mother.
And there were the yellowed dime novels.
A large pile of them.
Her attention went there, to her treasures. With a growing smile, her eyes widened as they always had as she thumbed through the tattered pages, and her heart beat just a little faster.
_DIME WESTERN MAGAZINE. COWBOY STORIES. ACE HIGH WESTERNS. FAR WEST MAGAZINE_. The pulp novel covers were illustrated in vibrant colors, displaying lurid paintings of gunfighters and outlaws firing smoking guns spitting blazing muzzlefire and clutching buxom wenches behind them protectively. She had learned how to read English from these dime books when she was a child. The friendly Tennessee priest had brought them from the post office in town. He'd mail ordered the pulps because he'd seen how the small child's eyes lit up when he told her tales of the cowboys he'd met on his journeys. The minister's clever plan had worked, because from age five, little Pilar had devoured the penny dreadfuls with their romanticized melodramas of the big, powerful, heroic but gentle outlaws who were the heroes of the open range. It had formed her fantasy of the cowboy. Her overheated imagination was fueled by purple prose of desperate shootouts between evildoers and the tall, handsome, soft-spoken stranger who always had honor and never backed down from a fight. This was the thrilling bigger than life world she dreamed of beyond the impoverished confines of her humble village. The fantasy world western heroes were as much her companions as the simple farmers who were her friends and family. She wanted more than what her circumstances offered. Pilar yearned for the manly strength of the gunfighters she read of in the western pulps, dreamed of being swept away in the arms of such a man and kissed passionately, then bearing his child. But she knew she could not marry a man such as this or tie him down, for he was a restless rover and must always ride on into the sunset for more adventures. But he would always love her, and the child she bore would grow up to be a man of courage and bravery just like his father and become a hero like him. When Pilar became a teenager and the good reverend had given her adult classics to read, she would still keep the western books under her bed and reread them dozens of times until she had memorized each and every word. As she grew to a woman, she set aside childish things. But the cowboy remained in her heart.
When the werewolves came to her town, she knew at once the kind of strong, brave, fierce heroes she must find to protect her village, and realized it must have been God's plan to have her read dime novels as a child, memorizing them as she did the scripture. She would know at first sight the cowboy gunfighter who would deliver them.
That morning, standing across the street from Tucker, Pilar had known he was this man from the first moment she laid eyes upon him.
The girl tied the books back in the quilt. Kneeling, she gathered up some firewood and stuffed it under the heavy cast iron kettle. Briefly, she debated the wisdom of starting the fire now, knowing the chimney smoke might be seen by the bandits stationed around the church across the way, but she had not seen any of them outside, and the gunfighters would be back soon with the silver if they returned at all. Pilar lit the match. Rich scented smoke began to fill the structure as the flames began to lick. She looked around for what else needed to be prepared. The water cask was empty. Picking it up, she walked to the doorway.
Someone blocked her path.
The tall bandit was lean, wiry and feral. His face was long and stretched, vulpine in bone structure. His sharp teeth razored into a bad grin as he brushed a lock of oily, lank, filthy hair from his face. His predatory, wary eyes fixed her just the way the wolves she had seen did, always sizing you up. " _Buenas dias_."
Pilar backed off as the one she had heard called Calderon by the Jefe pried the empty cask from her fingers and tossed it aside, advancing, corralling her back into the shed.
" _Hola_ ," the girl managed, thinking to avert her eyes submissively but not daring to let him out of her gaze. The bandit did not immediately make his intentions known, although he radiated a hungry animal smell and predatory heat. His thin lips drew back in a sneer over his big, chipped buck teeth as he eyeballed her.
The girl suddenly wanted to pee badly.
He was enjoying intimidating her, taking his time. The bandit ran a finger over one of the dishes the gunfighters had used, then ran his finger and its broken jagged nail on the anvil with the sledgehammer placed atop it, ready to be used.
The grating sound of the fingernail on steel hurt her ears and jangled her nerves.
Still Calderon watched her, mordant eyes black as pitch, impossible to read but observant and circumspect as they studied her.
When she could bear it no more, she said, "What do you want?"
His voice was high and nasally, and had a musical lilt. "These men, gunfighters, show up here. Just riding through they say. There is nothing here. Nothing anywhere near here. And yet they are here in this village. Chance, it could be, perhaps, but I think not. It is no accident they are here, _si_?" Pilar froze as the stalking Calderon slowly paced the blacksmith's shop, studying the metal forging equipment. He picked up a poker and tapped it on his hand. "This place. It is used to make metal. Harnesses. Plows for the fields. Or bullets, _si_?"
"Please, I don't understand." The girl cringed, knowing if she tried to flee the bandit would be on her in less than a second, tearing her asunder. She knew too well what they were capable of. He radiated violence and suspicion, but barely spoke above a whisper.
"What I think, _punta_ , is men like these, they are here for the silver. Why else gringos come to a shit town like this? _Mucho dinero_." He wagged his finger at her and made a scolding _tsk tsk_ sound. "And I know you went and found them. Yes you did. Brought them here to kill us. Promised them _mucho_ silver. Told them they needed the silver to kill _mis hermanos_."
"I didn't."
And then he was there.
Across the room so fast she never saw him move.
His face was in hers, his dirty talon of a hand gripping her neck in a stranglehold and cutting off her respiration as she choked under the stink of him.
"Yes, _si_?"
"Yes." She could not lie.
" _Bueno_."
And Pilar wept.
It was over.
Calderon would go back and tell his Jefe and the gunfighters would be ripped to shreds before they ever got out with the silver. She had tried. But had only been responsible for more deaths.
He reached out his hand and put it in her shirt, scooping out one of her bare melon breasts and squeezing it roughly in his fingers, thumbing her nipple painfully. Pilar didn't dare move, and terror spread through her that he would take the virginity she had protected so long.
Calderon watched her. "I am right, _si_?" He tugged her boob like a cow udder.
" _Si_."
He released her breast. "I go now and tell Jefe. And we will kill them for you very nice. Then, tonight, I will be back, when the moon is up and you will open wide for me, _punta_." With that, he extended his long foul tongue and lapped it like a dog across the side of her face.
She turned from him, wincing in disgust.
With a grunt of base satisfaction, Calderon stormed out of the blacksmith's shop, swung into his saddle and rode hard for the church.
Inside the defiled chapel, Tucker, Bodie and Fix had loaded their saddlebags to overflowing with the gleaming silver artifacts.
They were grabbing the last ornate candlesticks when Tucker noticed the scabrous, lean bandit with the wolfish face slink into the cathedral through the bright opening in the doors and skulk over to the Jefe. Giving the gunfighters the stink eye from across the pews, the lurking Calderon pressed his snout of a mouth to the bandit leader's ear and furtively whispered, a susurration canine in timbre. Mosca listened, nodded and watched the cowboys steadily without blinking. Sound carried in the cathedral but all Tucker could discern was the hissing whispering noises from Calderon. However, he heard Mosca's grinning response just fine. " _Comprendo, hermano_. I knew the minute they rode in." He wasn't sure that meant trouble or not, but Tucker figured they better make tracks. Ready to leave, the gunslingers were about to heave the saddlebags over their shoulders when they looked up and saw the Jefe standing, blocking the open doorway, silhouetted against the lowering sun. "Just one thing you must do for me before you go, amigos."
Tucker lowered the saddlebag and stood upright, facing Mosca. "What would that be?"
"Give me a gunfight."
"You and me?"
" _Si_. If you are faster than me, then you may go with the silver."
Bodie snorted. "Knew there was a catch."
"Here we go," muttered Fix.
"Fair enough." Tucker nodded to Mosca. Lowering his hands to his sides, fingers hovering by the stock of his pistol in his holster, Tucker assumed the position. He shot a glance for Bodie and Fix to back off as he stood in the center aisle between the pews and faced the Jefe standing with his arms crossed in front of the door. You could hear a pin drop. The other two gunfighters braced for the battle they were ready for when they first stepped into Santa Sangre. Each turned to face the army of bandits on either side of the church who were slowly stepping near their rifles and pistols, watching them like a pack of hungry wolves, beady eyes on the gunfighters' hands perched by their holstered irons.
None of the banditos went for their weapons. The gunslingers were closer to their pistols and would get the initial shots off and draw first blood before the place turned into a shooting gallery.
Mosca spoke softly, facing off for the showdown with Tucker, yet his arms remained calmly crossed. "Your move."
As they faced off for the shoot-out, Tucker put the army of bandits surrounding him out of his mind because his friends had them covered. He focused on sizing up his adversary and took his measure. In his sightline, he saw nothing in his own straight-ahead stare but the bandit leader and his guns, taking in every movement of his opponent. The hirsute man was fat and ungainly, yet his locked gaze was supremely confident and assured, primal and raw as a wild coyote. He seemed to be enjoying the prospect of imminent death, and that was just a little damn unnerving. It was the crazy ones you worried about. Tucker waited to draw, he could wait a long time.
Hell with it. Nobody lives forever.
It happened in a split second.
Tucker drew first, fist closing on the gunstock, feeling the tug of the barrel leaving its sheath. Instantly, the muzzle was pointed forward, his right hand pushing the gun and hammer under the flattened palm of his left hand, fanning and firing a shot right between Mosca's eyes. The bullet put a neat red hole in the Jefe's forehead, spritzing a spray of matter behind his head. The bandit leader remained standing with his arms crossed. The gunshot echoed in sonic reverberation through the church, scattering a few vultures. No further shots rang forth.
Tucker expected the air to explode with gunfire. He looked left and right with his pistol drawn but the bandits were just standing there on all sides, grinning. The air was taut with tension as Bodie and Fix stood braced, ready to draw on all the other brigands but none of them made a move. He threw glances to his comrades but they were staring in the direction of the Jefe with their mouths hanging open.
Mosca just stood there, shot in the head.
Tucker watched him, the barrel of his raised pistol drifting smoke. There was a tidy, penny-sized hole in the forehead of the man.
Mosca's eyes popped open, daylight glinting off the rows of gold teeth as his lips spread in an insane grin.
"You got me, amigo." With that, the Jefe drew his pistol.
Tucker quickly shot him five times, fanning and firing his pistol until it clicked empty, the bullets slamming home into Mosca's chest in a tight pattern that tore cloth and spurted blood.
"Oh! Ow! Ow! Oh!" the bullet-ridden bandit cried in mock pain. He stayed on his feet, dancing a little jig. The Jefe was laughing the whole time, unharmed. "I let you win again, amigo. _Mira_. As you can see, bullets do not hurt us. We live forever. We are the strong. You can be like us. Impossible to kill. Men like you should ride with us. Join us."
Tucker, Bodie and Fix exchanged slow glances.
" _Join us_." Those words hung in the air.
Tucker heard the sound of flies growing louder and louder. The cloying noise of the insects seemed to emanate from the leader of the brigands, as if the hive was inside his guts. And right then the cowboy understood these were not men. Bullets could not kill them. Nothing could.
The gunfighters were struck dumb, faced with _hombres_ whom bullets did not faze.
Fix showed rare wide-eyed shock. "It was true what that damn peasant said about these sumbitches."
"Every damn word of it," Bodie stammered.
Before their eyes, the bullet hole in Mosca's head healed, the penetrated flesh closing up as the cauterized blood ceased to drip, leaving barely a scar. "So what do you say?"
Tucker realized what the Jefe offered the gunfighters was to make them invulnerable, immortal, impervious to death by gun or noose, as the bandits obviously were. An end to fear and worry. At once, he felt utterly trail weary as Mosca's eyes fixed on his own, looking through his head across the desecrated church in a persuasive comfort of fellowship. Why not join the bandits, the cowboy wondered, what did they have to lose? Nothing but their humanity, but how much of that burdensome commodity did they have left anyway? They'd killed, robbed, cheated, left numbers too great to count dying in the dirt and that was all that lay ahead in their future until a bullet did them in. He and his two companions were little more than animals now anyway, ready to take the treasure and abandon the villagers to slaughter even though they had given their word, all three of them, that they would protect the people. It was so easy to just go for the money. Life for him was nothing but the same base, dirty, dismal day-to-day survival it was for any lizard that ever crawled out from under a rock. He took in the feral, hairy faces that minutes earlier had seemed so foul and now looked strong, admirable and reassuringly kindred and familiar. His brothers. Their terrible stench was the same, but it no longer bothered him any more than his own bad smell. Hell, if they joined up with this lot they wouldn't even have to shave anymore, or bathe. His gaze traveled to the naked girls huddled in the corner and saw their welted asses and bruised breasts and the iron in his trousers rose, because he wanted their bodies and suddenly he didn't mind the blood.
The two gunfighters on either side shrugged amiably when he glanced at them, like they could go either way, but they were looking to Tucker to make the decisions like they usually did.
What did they have to live for anyway? The last few years the three outlaws had been relentlessly hunted, on the run, fearing death by hanging or bullets, suffering starvation, scrounging for a buck. What good was the silver? Tucker wondered. Even if they got out of here with the treasure, people would be gunning for them trying to take it. He might even have to keep his eyes on Bodie and Fix in case they got greedy, and sleep with one eye open at night in case one of them tried to plug him and take it all. They could never go north back to America again, not with the reward on their heads and The Cowboys would never relent. They had no home, no family, no friends except each other until now. Until these bandits. Their home was here. Mosca's gaze had a spellbinding effect. Not like he was a friend, more that he was inevitable, cut from the same stock as they were, and his will had a powerful pull. Tucker beheld Bodie and Fix clenching their guns at half-mast, flickers of indecision in his comrades' eyes and he knew, without asking, that they felt it too. The three gunslingers stood side by side in the aisle between the pews, the looming shadows of the bandits on all sides in the shadowy recesses of a church no longer a place of worship for a Christian God but a terrible pagan and nameless deity. Tucker had often worried whether they were good or bad men, but now knew there was no good or bad, just what you were capable of. These bandits were capable of anything. Like the Jefe said, they were the strong, and the respect in his gaze showed them his pack was where they belonged. Take the bandit's offer. No more fear. Be free. Pure. Indulge their appetites like animals and eat when hungry, fuck when lustful, kill when bloodthirsty. The blood was the thing. Best of all, not to care anymore. Nothing left to care about. Let it all go. Being a man was a pain in the damn ass. It was all about survival. And these bastards had survived forever, Tucker knew, and so could they.
The pathetic muffled sobbing from the back of the church drifted through the recesses of the cathedral, sounding over the blood pounding in Tucker's ears that had been all he had been hearing. It was a sound of raw terror. It stirred his conscience, made him cognizant of the poor people, mothers, fathers, children, waiting to be butchered like livestock. Somewhere deep inside him, some stubborn long-buried grain of humanity asserted itself. The cowboy knew this pain and struggle was his, and Tucker did not want to lose himself.
He broke Mosca's gaze, ending the spell. The silver gleamed in his eyes, and greed and fortune became all consuming. He had more money in his hands than he had ever known, and their job here was almost done, if they could just get out in one piece.
"Thanks, amigo, maybe next time," he said to the bandit leader.
Mosca just watched him.
Then he shrugged with a tinge of atavistic melancholy and regret in his gravelly voice. "Suit yourself."
Tucker kept his voice even. "Just take 'er real easy, pardners." He looked at his companions. "Grab the silver. We're gettin' out of here."
Mosca stood aside to give them wide berth, displaying to them his gold grin the whole time. As the gunfighters walked out the front doors of Santa Sangre with their saddlebags laden with untold riches, the bandit leader said four final words in parting. "You will be back."
And the three gunfighters fled the church of The Men Who Walk Like Wolves without looking back, shaken to their spurs as they tied their saddlebags to their horses, swinging into their stirrups and riding out of the hellish place. Their three horses left trails of dust in their wake as they galloped down the hill through the town away from Santa Sangre, hard charging up the ravine and hurtling out into the desert wastes of Durango. Even over their thundering hooves they could hear the ringing laughter of the bandits on the wind after they were miles away.
Tucker didn't feel better until he and his gang had covered ten miles and even then he didn't look back.
Mosca stood in the doorway of the church, his black eyes glinting, chewing a toothpick, considering the three receding dust trails of the gunfighters in the distance.
The vulpine Calderon walked up to him, watching the cowboys go, displeased.
Mosca's eyes and voice were blank. "They will come back."
Calderon shook his head grimly. "I think not, Jefe."
Mosca's eyes looked up, boiling with blood. "They will because you will bring them back, slung over their saddles."
The second in command bandito turned to his leader and his chapped lips pulled wide over cracked, jagged teeth. "I have been waiting for your word, Jefe."
"I know, _pendejo_ , I know."
"Which pieces of them do you wish for me to bring you?"
"The meaty parts. And get our fucking silver!"
With a leathery chuckle, the hulking and hairy Calderon tugged himself into his saddle with one fist. He grabbed and loaded four bolt action Henry rifles in his saddle bags, stuffing in several more ammo belts. Mosca tossed him two Colt Dragoon pistols which the bandit crammed in his belt, beside the two guns in his sideholsters. The bandit was armed to the teeth, and in a killing mood. " _Gracias_ , _Jefe. Me gusta muerto los hombres."_
"They are all yours, amigo."
With a wild whoop, Calderon stabbed his spurred heels into his horse's flanks and charged down the hill, off into the distance in pursuit of the fading trails of dust of his prey.
Chapter Nine
_"You will be back." _
Tucker banished Mosca's farewell words from his mind, urging his horse faster. The gunfighter never again wanted to set eyes on that unholy church and what lay within. Like Lot's wife, the cowboy feared if he looked back, saw but a tiny glimpse of the distant steeple, he would turn to naught. The three gunfighters galloped across the hot griddle of the desert, the baking wind smashing against them, and they leaned into their horses and heard the galloping hooves and the _rattleclank_ of their treasure-laden leather saddlebags, making fast their souls and good their escape. Open badland wastes beckoned and embraced, and soon they were far from that accursed village.
Tucker thought of the silver. He thought of how he would spend it. But try as he might, the cowboy couldn't get out of his mind the little figure of the peasant girl standing on the ridge as they charged past on their horses with their stolen silver, watching them go. Even at the great distance, just from the brief glance he gave her, he saw the slump of her shoulders.
He had been many things in his time. Son. Cowboy. Husband. Widower. Soldier. Outlaw. Thief. Killer.
Now liar.
Samuel Llewellyn Tucker wondered when it was exactly he had gotten too mean to pray.
It had been an hour since she saw those sons of bitches ride out with the silver and all hope was lost.
This is why when Pilar heard the horse's hooves below the ridge heading into town, her heart leapt in her bosom. Had the gunfighters had a change of heart and returned to fulfill their promise? Her stomach quickly fell as she rushed to the edge of the incline and peered down to see only a lone rider on a horse trotting into the village. It wasn't them. It was as the girl feared; the cowboys had abandoned her and stolen the silver that would have saved her people. But as she squinted through the shimmery dust, she recognized the rider.
It was Vargas, the old town drunk who had fled the village on a whisky binge years before.
What was he doing back?
The _borracho_ rode into town armed to the teeth with silver bullets.
He was betting that The Men Who Walked Like Wolves didn't know that.
His old tired bones ached in his saddle from the long ride, but his heart was strong. The sight of his abandoned, derelict village shocked and dismayed him. It was a graveyard for vultures and flies. As he led his horse through the deserted corrals and stalls and saw the bones and rotting meat he knew they belonged to his friends. How many still survived he did not know.
But some must have.
For the bandits still occupied the area.
Up on the hill, by the church they now blasphemously called Santa Sangre, he could already see a few distant stick figures of the cutthroats patrolling the perimeter of the stark white mission. The whole place stank of death. His horse feared the area and sensed the unnatural evil present. It tossed its head in its bridle and wanted to go no further, but the old man held firmly on the bit with an iron grip and urged the _caballo_ forward. Just a few more yards, then he would dismount and cut it loose, and his own feet would carry him the rest of the way.
He had a lifetime of dishonor to make up for.
The village, or what was left of it, was depending on him.
He would not let them down.
Perhaps the old man should have considered his age, his eyesight. Perhaps he should have been mindful of the bandits' sheer numbers compared to the amount of bullets he had. But this was not on his mind.
At the edge of town, the _borracho_ dismounted and unstrapped his saddlebags and firearms that were already loaded with the bullets that would kill the werewolves. He thanked his horse for the good service it provided and before he could smack it on the rump, the stallion took off out of the village at a heated gallop, wanting to be gone from the evil place. The old man stuffed the Navy and SAA pistols in his belt, slung a Mexican bolt action rifle over his right shoulder and a Winchester repeater rifle over his left. He stuffed handfuls of silver bullets he had already separated by caliber into different pockets. They were heavy and the guns and ammo weighed him down, but he bore up under the greater burden of responsibility.
Walking to the base of the hill, the _borracho_ faced the church like a gunfighter. A rifle he held on one hand, a pistol in the other. The old timer stuck out his chest. Raised his chin. He was not afraid. It was a good day to die.
"WEREWOLVES, SHOW YOURSELVES SO I MAY SEND YOU TO HELL!" he shouted boldly.
The bandits looked down, taken aback at the sight of the decrepit stranger down the hill. Vargas bellowed at them as they noticed him for the first time. "TODAY YOU DIE! ALL OF YOU! I, HECTOR VARGAS, HAVE COME TO KILL YOU AND FREE MY PEOPLE!"
The fat, bearded leader of the brigands stepped out of the open wooden doors. He blinked in the sunshine but also in incredulity at the one old man in the village outskirts below yelling up at him in challenge. Mosca cracked a big gold-toothed grin. The four bandits flanking him by the church also grinned. They laughed mockingly, arms crossed, for this was very funny to them.
The _borracho_ blushed in humiliation and his legs shook at the ridicule, but he stood his ground, unshouldering his rifle. "I AM HERE TO RELEASE MY PEOPLE! I AM HERE TO KILL YOU COWARDS!" His frail voice barely reached the animals on the hill above, but they heard enough to laugh even harder, busting a gut.
Shaking his head, the amused bandit leader cupped his hands over his mouth. "Who are you, old fool?" he shouted.
"I AM HECTOR VARGAS AND I WAS BORN IN THIS VILLAGE! AS MY FATHER WAS BORN HERE AND HIS FATHER BEFORE HIM! THIS IS MY HOME!"
"But why have you come back?" Mosca's voice sounded astonished at the audacity of the old timer.
"THIS IS MY HOME AND THESE ARE MY PEOPLE WHOSE BLOOD YOU HAVE SPILT AND I HAVE COME TO KILL YOU AND SEND EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU STRAIGHT TO HELL! YOU HEAR ME, WEREWOLVES? I, HECTOR VARGAS, HAVE COME TO KILL YOU!"
Mosca spread his arms generously, displaying his chest. "Get on with it then!" he chortled.
Fired up with purpose, the old man shouldered the repeater, took aim and fired right at the chest of the bandit leader. His arms were frail, his eyesight poor and his aim was a little off. The bullet struck Mosca in the right shoulder instead and made a blossoming red bloom. But while the bullet missed the heart by a foot, it wiped the grin right off the bandit's face and the sudden raw fear and agony the _borracho_ saw in the brigand's eyes emboldened him.
"SILVER!" screamed Mosca in utter surprise and unbearable anguish as he pawed the big wound in his shoulder, the impacted slug burning like a red-hot poker buried in his flesh. He fell back against the wall, howling in pain like a wild animal. Tugging his knife from his belt, he jabbed it into the ragged hole, trying to dig the slug out. "AAAGGG-GGGGGGGGGHHHH!" The bandit leader fell to his knees, buckled over in panic, desperately prying the round out of his flesh with the knife. "HE HAS SILVER BULLETS!"
For one brief moment of glory, the old man had them. He opened fire on the other bandits, cocking his Winchester with one hand and firing his Colt in his other fist, unleashing a fusillade of silver bullets on the top of the hill. Spat out cartridge casings glinted gloriously in the sunlight as they flew twirling from the breech of his repeater. He rotated the rifle, cocking the lever action around his fingers, and fired from the hip, again and again. The slugs exploded and caromed off the white adobe walls of the church as the alarmed bandits ducked for cover. They scrambled for their weapons under the onslaught. One of them was hit in the kneecap and went down screaming in pathetic agony, a yelping sound more canine than human, pressing his own fingers into the bullet hole to pinch out the molten-hot silver slug.
It was the best moment of the old man's long life.
The three other bandits had snapped to attention and unholstered their pistols and rifles and began shooting back. Their aim was good for wolves have sharp vision.
The first round in the old man's side broke three of his ribs. He watched a foot-long jet of blood fountain from his shirt.
Still he laid down fire.
Bullets buzzed __ past his ears like a swarms of angry bees. The _borracho_ 's SAA pistol was empty so he tossed it aside and drew his Navy revolver and kept firing. His arms ached from the recoil but his adrenaline was pumping. Slugs exploded geysers of dirt at his feet. He could see the muzzleflashes of the bandits shooting down on him from the hill through the chalky haze of plaster dust his own bullets had kicked up when they ricocheted off the walls of the church.
Mosca damn near sawed his shoulder off but he got the bullet out.
The red flattened slug clattered on the ground.
He kicked it in blind rage, roaring in fury, the pain in his shoulder subsiding now the silver was gone.
Instantly, the bandit leader was up on his feet, smoothly quickdrawing one of the revolvers from his cross holsters and squeezing off a single shot that blew the _borracho_ clean off the ground. The Jefe spat in the dust in vile contempt, raised his hand and his men stopped shooting. The ringing reverbs of the gunfire faded to silence as the brigands on the hill stared down at the sprawled figure of the old man down in the village below them.
He was moving.
The _borracho_ lay on his back in the settling dust, his life bleeding out of him. He'd lost his guns. The weapons had flown from his grip when the shot that felled him blew a rat hole out of his thigh. He had taken two rounds, the other in his side. The old man coughed blood and grit his teeth, turning his head to see the pistol ten yards from him. There was still feeling in his arms and legs and he wasn't dead yet.
_Get the gun._
With a grunt of pain, he rolled over onto his stomach and began to crawl for his weapon.
_Quick, get the gun._
Mosca's eyes were vacant as he started walking down the hill, in no hurry. The smoking Colt was in his fist, carried loosely at his side. Step by step, he descended the gravel incline toward the pathetic figure on the ground below who crawled on his belly like a snail toward one of his guns with the silver bullets. The bandit leader took his time in his approach, face slack, grimy hair falling down his back. Mosca stuck a cigar in his mouth and fired it up with a stick match he struck with the thumb on his free hand. He blew clouds of smoke like a chimney, stogie clamped in his teeth as he spoke.
"You have heart, _pendejo_ ," he snarled. "I'll give you that." The wounded old shootist kept dragging himself toward the pistol in the dirt. The Jefe descended from the church, smoking as he spoke. "I saw a mouse that had heart once. There was this big cat and she had pounced on this mouse, tore off his leg. The back leg. The mouse tried to crawl away, bleeding, without a leg." The bandit leader's boots had reached the base of the hill in a crumble of gravel. Mosca slowly and deliberately closed the distance between himself and the crawling man, talking softly. "The cat, she just watched him crawl and crawl without the leg and when the mouse was at the end of the porch thinking it would get away, the cat pounced again and dragged him back, biting off his other leg."
The _borracho_ pulled and tugged and dragged himself across the punishing rocks and stones of the hard pack ground. His leg and sides were wet and sang with agony, and he left a smear of blood in his wake. The pistol was now three feet away. He saw his hand reach for it, fingers stretching the last few inches for the stock. Counted rounds in his head. Five more silver bullets were chambered. Then the large ugly shadow fell across him and the old man could smell the bandit leader standing right behind him.
The first shot split his eardrums.
The old man's right hand reaching for the gun disappeared in a fine red mist and shrapnel of bone fragments. The blasted stump of a wrist geysered a jet of blood a foot in the air. His own screaming drowned out the sound of the second gunshot that ricocheted in a flash of sparks off the pistol, sending the gun skittling another five yards away where it spun in a glint of metal in sunlight until it went still.
Mosca stood tall and awful over the old man who lay writhing in agony, clutching with his good hand his arm shot off at the wrist. The _borracho_ spat up at him but the bloody saliva didn't reach its target and splattered back onto the old man's face. The Jefe chuckled, enjoying this, puffing cigar smoke. Gritting his teeth, steeling his gaze, the wounded wretch twisted his head to regard the pistol a few yards farther from him now.
And began to crawl for it.
Reaching toward the fallen weapon with his last good hand.
"You have heart, _pendejo_. Like the mouse." Mosca smiled, nodding his approval. "How I remember the cat on the porch watching as the mouse, now without two legs, pulled himself across the porch with both its front legs, inch by inch, leaving a long trail of little mouse blood. It went _squeak squeak_. The cat, she just waited, for she had nothing better to do." The bandit blew wafting smoke from the muzzle of his _pistola_ , and took another step to keep pace with the maimed man desperately dragging himself on his stomach toward the gun. The old man's revolver was now two feet from his left hand fingers.
" _Squeak squeak_ , eh little mouse?"
Still the old man crawled, dragged, urged himself toward his pistol with his last remaining strength, suffering terribly. Towering above, taking his sweet time, his murderer coldly regarded the side of his victim's face, watching the drunk bite his lip bloody to stop himself from passing out. Another foot now. The slow drag of shirt on gravel. Those aged fingers stretching for the barrel of the gun with all the force of will their owner could muster to fire just one more silver bullet if he could. Fingertips six inches away. "Can you guess what happened next, _pendejo_ , do you even care? I know you must focus now on getting that gun, so I will tell you. The mouse with the big heart, he made it again to the edge of the porch and another inch he would be safe when the cat pounced, dragged him back and bit off his front leg." Relishing the moment, squeezing every last drop of sadistic pleasure out of it, Mosca slid his revolver back in his holster.
The drunk's ancient tobacco-yellowed fingertips touched steel.
The bandit spun his pistol out of his holster around his forefinger and fired a single quick shot from the hip, blowing the _borracho_ 's left hand clean off. Finger pieces and bits of palm flesh splattered the dirt as the old man wailed dismally, holding up a gruesome soup of a handless wrist out of which jagged a splintered bone.
"My problem, and your problem, is that I am not a cat, I am a wolf."
Mosca moved with lightning speed and with one filthy fist grabbed the old man by his thinning white hair, brutally yanking his head up and lifting his shoulders off the ground with savage force.
_"And a wolf goes for the throat."_
With that, Mosca sheathed his gun and drew out his knife, sawing at the _borracho_ 's neck. The blade cut deep into the flesh, gushing blood in all directions. The bandit's feral visage was splattered with the bright red oxygenated arterial spray and his grinning teeth turned crimson in a face that was a lurid mask of gore. The dying man's eyes bulged in unimaginable horror as in his remaining seconds of consciousness he felt his own head being cut off. Mosca viciously jerked the blade back and forth, slicing through skin, tendon, muscle and finally spinal cord with a sickening _crack_ and the torso began to fall away, held to the head by a long, wet rope of meat. Grunting impatiently, the bandit leader shook the nearly severed head violently in his grip, until the last grisly strand of muscle snapped and the skull came loose. He carried it by the hair over to a corral fence and slammed the ragged neck stump down on a jutting wooden post, grotesquely impaling the decapitated head. Its sightless eyes stared glassily. Mosca wiped the blade clean on the dead man's hair then sheathed it, his own gaze as detached as the head. " _Si_ , you had heart, _pendejo_. Too bad for you it's over there."
The bandit leader kicked the headless trunk out of his way as he trod back up the hill to Santa Sangre.
"Fuck you and your silver."
Up above on the ridge, tears poured down Pilar's cheeks watching the scene below from her hiding place. She had seen the whole savage and brutally sadistic killing. Made herself watch. Yet had done nothing. What good could she have done? she told herself over and over. Had she showed herself, with certainty she would have been captured and raped and killed and eaten like the rest. But while her reasoning was sound, the peasant girl knew in her heart she was a coward and she was afraid and that old man who had died so badly down there had not been afraid to die, to do what he could. _You are no hero, Pilar. You have learned there are no heroes, just the strong who prey on the weak_. Shame and self-disgust consumed Pilar and she felt small and worthless as she slunk back from the ridge into the hard lengthening shadows of the lowering sun.
The old man down there at least had been brave.
It made his flesh that much tastier to the vultures who even now descended to feed on his remains.
Then it hit her. The dead man had been using silver bullets, and somewhere on his corpse he likely had more rounds. The body was out in the open in the square. As soon as the bandits went back inside the church she decided she would sneak down into the town and retrieve the silver rounds and the weapons to fire them, staying out of sight. It was up to Pilar now to rescue her sister and her mother, though she would certainly die in the attempt. Her promise had been to return for Bonita, not live forever. She could be brave still.
A few minutes later, the girl risked a peek over the edge of the ridge and saw the two bandits collecting all the unused silver bullets and guns from the dead old man, scavenging the body of weapons like the vultures were of its flesh. The carrion birds did not even pause in their feeding as the brigands took the last of the ammo that could kill them back up into Santa Sangre and all hope was once again lost.
That's when she saw her little sister step out of the church hand in hand with the bandit leader and for the first and only time in her life, Pilar prayed for her own death.
"Sit with me."
"Okay."
The big man with the bad smell sat on the edge of the hill, eye level with the child. "Sit on my lap." Bonita watched him a moment. He was smiling, patting his thigh. So she sat on him. He put his dirty paw of a hand gently on her back as she perched on his knee. They looked out at the quiet village, and for a while neither spoke.
He did first. "It is cool up here, _si_?"
"The breeze is nice." She nodded.
"It blows your hair like a dandelion." Mosca sniffed her hair in a way that was odd to her. "You have beautiful hair, child."
"Thank you."
He stroked her black tresses. She wrinkled her nose. "You smell bad."
Mosca chuckled. "But you smell very, very good. So good I will eat you." He laughed and she did too, like it was a game. "You are a good girl, _si_?"
She shrugged. He held her on his lap under the hot sun of the day. "You are a bad man," she stated firmly. "And you have dirty fingernails."
The bandit roared with laughter. "I like you, child. You are very brave to speak to me in such a manner. What is your name?"
"Bonita."
"Such a pretty name."
The little girl thanked him politely, perfectly behaved.
"Are you not scared of me?"
She shook her head. "No."
His reddened eyes twinkled with mirth. "Why is this, my brave little one?"
"Because my sister will come and save me."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Will she? And where is your sister now?"
"I don't know."
"But I do." With a wolfish grin, he nudged his bearded jaw toward the ridge across the village. "She is right over there, at the blacksmith's shop. Do you know what she is doing at this very minute as we speak?"
"Getting ready to come and save me."
"Watching us right now. We can't see her because she hides, but she sees you. Wave to her." The bandit lifted the little girl's hand and they both waved. "That's it. Wave hello." The child waved for a while, then put her arm down.
"Do you think she saw me?" Bonita asked.
"Certainly. She is crying right now, because she knows that all is lost. Your big sister is very brave, like you. She rode very far to bring dangerous _vaqueros_ to kill us, but she chose poorly and those men stole the silver. They were very bad men."
"Worse than you?"
"Much worse because they lied. I am bad, but I do not lie."
"I'm sad now."
The bandit stared in her face with gentleness. "I had a beautiful little girl just like you once. You remind me of her."
"Did she die?"
He nodded somberly. "She was about your age."
"What was her name?"
"I don't remember."
The little girl looked at him perplexed, like he was kidding her. "How can you forget your child's name?"
His eyes were distant now. "Because it was a long, long time ago."
She fidgeted. He adjusted her position on the loose pants on his muscled thigh to make her more comfortable. "How long?"
He regarded her with melancholy. "Five hundred years."
"People don't live to be five hundred years old."
"No, people don't."
"So how can your child have been five hundred years ago?"
"Because I am not People. I think you know this."
"Yes."
He touched her face.
Sniffed her skin.
Tears began to flow from her eyes.
"Don't be sad, little one. Everybody dies. This is as it should be."
He stood.
"One day you will, too," he said. The bandit held out his hand. "I will take you back to your mother."
Bonita rose and took his hand and together they walked back into the church. "My sister is coming."
"Perhaps."
"My sister, when she comes, she will kill you."
The little girl looked up at the huge bandit with her honest button eyes.
He didn't blink.
All he said was...
"I know."
The bloody bullet wound of a sun sunk into a lake of gore on the horizon as gathering darkness extinguished the last traces of any hope of day. The desert at dusk stretched endlessly on all sides, claustrophobic in its sheer vastness. Three distant riders rested their horses and trotted toward a box canyon of crevices and towering rock crags.
Far to the rear, hanging back, a fourth horse and rider pursued them with the dogged dour determination of a coyote. Like the ageless desert predator he was, the hunter blended into the landscape and stayed out of sight.
The gunfighters had been on the trail for three hours, retracing their steps from the long morning ride from the cantina because without a map of the area they didn't know where they were, and a wrong turn in the endless desert with its lethal heat was a death warrant. Plus their own sign was still fresh and easy to follow. They'd decided to head west once they reached the stagecoach trail they'd encountered earlier, and from there follow it west. The Wells Fargo line would be routed to civilization. The men took it easy on their horses because the animals were weighed down with the brimming saddlebags of silver. If they lost any of the mounts, they'd have to rig up a drag for some of the treasure and that would slow them considerably. It had been about 3:00 p.m. when the men had ridden out of Santa Sangre, and night was fast approaching, so they began looking for a place to camp and start out fresh first thing the next morning. That box canyon ahead looked as good a place as any. Tucker said again what he had said every half an hour since they fled. "Too damn easy."
Fix was in an expansive mood. "We're rich, boys. What you gonna do with your'n?"
Bodie sucked some whisky from his bottle. "Buy me some pussy," he belched.
"Then after that what?"
"I dunno. Buy me s'more."
The silver clinked and clanked like a tambourine in time with their spurs and saddle cleats.
"You're gonna spend it all on pussy, Bodie?"
"No, I ain't gonna spend it all on pussy neither, Fix. I'm gonna buy other stuff. Like clothes. And a new gun probably. Then I'm gonna...well I'm gonna...put it in a bank, that's what I'm gonna do, so's I can have my money working for me while I figure out what to spend it on _besides pussy_!"
He cracked up hysterically, and Fix joined in the laughter.
The little, taut gunslinger's eyes went distant. "Figure mebbe I'll buy me a little spread down Durango way. Get me some cattle. Settle down...mebbe."
Tucker shook his head, holding his reins, hips shifting with the horse's gait on the saddle. "Lot of money, boys, that silver is a whole lot of money." He was preoccupied, riding in the lead ahead, eyes hard in the distance. "And all it's given us so far is a big set of brand new problems."
"Like what?" asked Bodie. "We're rich."
"That's if'n we live to spend it. We got to be real careful. Right now we're riding through no man's land with a fortune. We can't just ride around Mexico carrying all this silver. What we need to do is bury it. I say we split the loot into three parcels and we each ride out and hide it where the others don't know about."
Tucker felt the unfamiliar twinge of distrust in the air between the three men.
"Reckon this much _dinero_ could be a big temptation even twixt the best of friends," Fix grimly agreed.
"It ain't that exactly," Tucker said, although now the specter of betrayal had been raised it lay in the air like a dead fart, ruining the mood. "What I mean is we split up and each bury a third of the silver. Let's say one of us gets caught somehow with his parcel of silver and the sumbitches try to beat out of him the location of the rest of the treasure, he can't spill what he don't know."
"Can't argue with that." Fix grunted in agreement.
Bodie nodded, eyes glazed in confusion from trying to follow the conversation.
Tucker continued. "Then after we bury it, we regroup. Each of us knows where his parcel of the treasure is and doesn't tell the others. And the agreement is that each of the buried shares is owned three ways by us, so if we lose one, nobody's out of pocket. Agreed?" They others nodded. "It's decided then. We bury the treasure and we bury it soon. Tomorrow. That's one problem licked."
"So we just ride back and dig up what we need?" Bodie asked.
"That's the idea. Problem two. We can't go around cashing silver candlesticks and religious articles. They'll make us for thieves, and we got enough people after us already. What we need to do is melt this silver down into bars. So we got to locate a blacksmith's shop directly like that town back there had. We'll pay the blacksmith a share for his work and his silence. If we think he's dodgy, we'll just kill him when he's done the work."
"A bullet's a lot cheaper than a share of the silver, I savvy." Fix clicked his teeth. Tucker knew right then that the as yet unidentified blacksmith already had a slug of lead with his name on it.
"Mebbe so. We go back one at a time, dig up one parcel of silver goods from the church at a time, bring it back have the blacksmith melt it. The other two can remain with him to be sure he don't run off with our loot. Once we get these artifacts melted down into bricks, then each of us ride out and bury their share same place or t'other."
"Then what?" Fix asked, because Tucker had a habit of thinking things through which was why he was unspoken leader of the tight-knit gang.
"Then we got the same problem. Can't go riding around with this much silver. Not unless we want to get robbed or killed. It's got to be a million dollars or more we're haulin' right now in our saddlebags. And unless we want to spend our remaining days in Durango, we can't leave it buried and just keep coming back for it piecemeal. I say we bank it in Juarez or Mexico City. Turn it, or some of it, over into cash in bank accounts. It'll take us a few weeks, with all the riding to the buried silver and the banks and back, but we take it real slow and careful and patient and we'll get 'er done."
"We got another problem," Fix offered. "All them federals and bounty hunters on our ass, and remember those banks likely have our posters up. Heading into a bank is a big damn risk."
"Mebbe we could pay off the Federales. Pay 'em the reward on us and a bonus for staying off our backs. Buy their protection," said Bodie. "Not like we ain't got the money. We can buy anything. Including our own asses."
Tucker and Fix looked at the third of their number. Once in a while, he made sense and when the normally dull man had one of his good ideas it was always a pleasant surprise. They nodded.
"That could work, we get to the right Federales," Tucker admitted. "Maybe that fat pig general Lopez who heads up the fort outside of Mexico City we had that run in with back in May. Bet a few bars of silver would persuade him to send the word have his troops back off. That would sure as shit piss off The Cowboys, but if the price was right, he'd probably string up any of their bounty hunters they send after us too."
"Then we just lay low in Mexico the rest of our days." Fix shrugged. "In the style to which I intend to become accustomed."
"Might be a good idea buy a big ass ranch or hacienda down Guadalajara way. Men is going to be coming for us, but we hire on some Mexican guards, pay off the Federales like Bodie said, we could buy protection and live behind the walls a lifetime. Or until they forget about us." They men of action considered the unpleasant prospect of being so penned up for eternity. It didn't sit.
"Right."
"Right."
"Whatever."
"Sure as shit can't go back to the U.S.," Fix agreed.
"Not any state got an extradition treaty with Arizona, we can't," Tucker said. "I hear Doc Holliday is still rotting away in a Leadville jail up in Colorado fighting extradition by the Tombstone boys and word is they're sending his ass back to The Cowboys and a waiting noose directly."
"Why the hell isn't Wyatt Earp helping his friend out?" Bodie wondered.
"Heard Earp dropped him like a hot potato after the Vigilante Raid," Tucker said ruefully.
"Earp was always a prick." Fix chuckled dismissively. "Should have put a bullet in his brain pan when I had the chance. Holliday too."
"We get our money banked, we might can risk New York, maybe San Francisco, set ourselves up as proper gentlemen or robber barons. Or we can catch a ship and head to England. Start over."
"Too much to think about right now." Fix rubbed his eyes. "Been a long day. Right now, I just want to set camp and break open a bottle of whisky and admire our spoils. Tomorrow, we'll bury it, just like you said, friend, and go find us that blacksmith."
Suddenly being rich wasn't sounding so great, Tucker was thinking. It was confusing and tense trying to figure out a way to hold onto their money and keeping what they stole looked harder then getting it in the first place. Nothing had changed. They were still going to feel hunted, still spend their lives looking over their shoulders, now more than ever.
And that wasn't all that was weighing heavy on his conscience.
"Hey, Tuck. What you gonna spend your share of all this loot on?" Bodie asked affably.
"Peace of mind."
"Huh?
"Them poor wretches back there. We gave them a royal screwin', leaving 'em to those bastards."
Fix sneered. "Fuck 'em, Tucker. Them Mexicans was stupid enough to roll over for them bandits, stupid enough to tell us where their silver was, and a fool and his money are easily parted."
Tucker chuckled mirthlessly. "We parted 'em with it that's for sure."
The little wiry gunfighter was bothered. "You going soft all of a sudden?"
Tucker didn't take the bait. There was sadness and regret in his blue eyes. "Just wondering when exactly we became the bad guys is all."
Bodie shrugged. "We ain't no worst than most. I love my mama."
"My mama was a whore," Fix tossed off.
"One thing you can bet on," said Tucker. "They didn't set out to raise no bad men."
"Boo hoo."
Tucker shot the others a circumspect glance. "You boys don't find it peculiar them bandits, cannibals, whatever they was, just let us walk out of there with all that silver?"
The big Swede laughed a little too loud, in a drunken glow. "Lucky is what we is."
"Irregular is what it is," growled Tucker. "Too good to be true. And what's too good to be true usually ain't."
Fix gripped the saddle with his knees and whapped his palomino on the haunches with his reins clenched in a black leather gloved fist so as to speed it up over the rocks. "They could have killed us right there, if they wanted to."
"But they didn't," said Bodie.
Tucker nodded, like that proved his point. "Irregular I say. Maybe they're just toying with us and this ain't over yet."
Fix looked up at the coloring sky. "Well, sun's going down, boys. Figure we best make camp."
They rode into the deep crevices of the brutal canyon country. There was an eerie atmosphere in the air, a hanging ground mist. The box canyons shadowed purple as dusk descended, the sun lowered in the sky and a dull haze settled in the area. Tucker, Fix and Bodie rode slowly through the towering chasms of crags and ravines rising up on all sides.
"I'll be glad tomorrow when we're a day's ride from here. This is a bad place," said Tucker. The gloom was dank and cold. He shivered.
Bodie reacted abruptly. "Did you hear something?"
Fix went stone still, the lean little gunfighter on high alert, braced for action. His gloved hands hovered itchy by his gunstocks in his belt. He spat a chaw of tobacco on the ground, flinty observant eyes surgically carving a line across the rocks above them. "Shhh."
Tucker unsnapped the clasp holding his Sharps rifle on his saddlebag of his dun colored stallion with a little _click_. Bodie eyeballed the others, and they caught his gaze. He snicked his glance to the left. There was a blur of movement on a scree behind him. Then they saw Calderon as he stepped out from behind a big rock a few feet ahead, holding a rifle in his bandito rags. His eyes were shiny black marbles.
"We meet up again, gringos."
The three gunfighters faced the outnumbered Mexican, sitting laconically in their saddles and cradling their weapons. The silver in the saddlebags glittered and glinted in the pale ghost of the full moon appearing overhead in the twilight sky.
Tucker's tone was blunt. "What do you want?"
Calderon nodded. "I come for the silver." They watched him. "Mostly."
Bodie got riled. "Your Jefe said we could take it."
"Jefe change his mind, gringos, and he wants his silver back."
Tucker casually scanned the visibly empty box canyon, satisfied that there were no other bandits, and then returned his gaze to the interloper who faced them with a notable lack of concern being all by himself. "You come alone," he said.
" _Solamente_."
"So what if we don't want to give it back?"
The bandit tilted his head, the way a dog regards a kill. "I take it anyway."
Fix tickled his pearl-handled Colts with his gloved fingertips. "I'm gonna put one in his bone box just for shits and giggles."
Three against one.
Those odds might not be in their favor, Tucker reflected. All of them remembered the bullet-ridden Mosca back in Santa Sangre with one between the eyes and five in the chest standing there laughing, completely unharmed. This one could be just as indestructible. They reckoned they were about to find out. As if to make the point, a mangy buzzard alighted on a crag of granite overhead, giving those below its malignant full attention.
Tucker suppressed a smile. "So we give you the silver, and you here all by your lonesome against us three, is gonna let us live?"
Calderon seemed taken aback. "No, gringo, I am going to kill you too."
Tucker nodded. "Let's get to it then." With that, he fired both guns two-handed at point-blank range into Calderon's chest, blowing smoking bullet holes through his front. Some of the bullets punched out fist-sized exit wounds in back.
The bandit staggered, but remained standing.
"Sonufabitch!" yelled Fix, flabbergasted. "Who the hell are these guys?"
Calderon spat a bloody, crumpled slug with powerful force and deadly accuracy between Tucker's eyes, breaking the flesh and hurting him.
"Ow!" The cowboy recoiled, grabbing his forehead.
By then Bodie and Fix had their guns drawn and were fanning and firing, creating clouds of smoke and muzzleflash into which the bandit disappeared from view as his body was hammered again and again with lead, apparently riddling him with bullets and blowing him to pieces. The _thunderbooms_ of the gunfire echoed around the box canyons long after the shooting ceased. The smoke cleared. Calderon was gone, fled into the ravine. He was quickly glimpsed scrambling up the rocks of the chasm, lizard quick. His chortling laughter reverberated.
"We had him dead to rights! You saw!" Bodie cried, utterly rattled. He and Fix reined their horses around, swung out of the saddles and tethered the reins to a small tree. Guns drawn, the two shootists ducked into the high canyon in pursuit of Calderon.
Fix yelled back at Tucker, spraying tobacco juice. "Cover the area and keep a lookout for other'n!"
"Will do!" Tucker shouted. Staying in his saddle, clenching a big iron in each fist, he reloaded, guarding the base of the cliffs and nursing the nasty bleeding cut between his eyes.
Fix took cover behind a slab of rock and leapt around shooting a single pistol round at the bandit a hundred feet up in the chasm, who fired back. Both bullets missed and rebounded off the rocks. The ricochet of the slug exploded by Fix's head, nearly killing him as it chinked the granite.
"Shit!" he yowled.
Bodie sprang forward, firing his Winchester repeater rifle twice up at the fearsomely elusive Calderon, then ducked around behind a boulder for cover as three more bullets came from above and ricocheted deafeningly. A new threat. Five loose bullets were zigzagging out of control around the narrow cranny of the ravine. Unpredictable in their lethal trajectories, buzzing like mad bees, the rebounding slugs slammed again and again into the rocks by Fix and Bodie, making them leap like Mexican jumping beans. Impact meant instant death.
_BLAM!_
_BLAM!_
_PTOW!_
Fix winced and dodged up to the next rock outcropping, getting off a shot at Calderon, who buckled and grunted. His shadow was visible on the rock wall above, as the wounded bandit huddled in a cranny.
The full moon lifted in the sky.
Fix saw the long shadow of the man just over the incline, crouching in the precipice in the hard white moonlight. A groan of pain came from the figure as the moon cracked over the horizon.
"I got him, boys, you hear me? I hit him and I can hear him squealin'!" Fix yelled over his shoulder. Then the small cowboy yelled up into the depths of the canyon. "Give up fool, I know you can hear me! Don't want to kill you none after you bein' so generous with the silver so throw down yer guns and I'll let you limp outta here if ya still can!"
The sounds of anguish intensified and the silhouette of the man on the rocks above became distorted on the ravine rock wall. The shadows of the legs lengthened. The torso's shadow spasmed and seizured as the rib cage began to concave. The outline of the digits of the hands and feet extended into talons in the moonlight. Finally, the profile of its head punched out its snout into a canine skull formation with a horrific bone-snapping _crunch_ that echoed through the ravine.
Fix fingered the trigger of his handgun, watching the bizarre shape shifting of the shadow.
"What the hell...?"
The human screams of pain gradually subsided into a rumbling growl that increased in timbre, mean and guttural, echoing through the innards of the chasm. The shadow disappeared before Fix's disturbed eyes, leaping away with supernatural speed and stealth.
A hundred yards away, Tucker sat on his horse, twin pistols gripped in his fists, knees clinging to the saddle, eyes moving back and forth as he rode this way and that through the canyon base. The horse started to freak, eyes widening big as saucers, sweat frothing its mane. The cowboy went into high alert, searching the rugged cliff walls above and around him. Something very hungry and bloodthirsty watched him from above, then leapt an impossible distance to the ledge of the opposite stone face to observe him from another predatory vantage. Hearing gravel crumble, Tucker looked up quickly, thumbing back the hammers of his guns, as a few pebbles tumbled onto the ground by his horse's hooves. His stallion was very nervous. Tucker reacted to the fleeting silhouette darting above him, then down below. It was a great big shadow like moving black paint. Whatever was stalking him ducked into position, the hot blood pounding in its ears.
The monster pounced.
Tucker gasped.
The hairy beast stood eight feet tall with red eyes and a savage feral expression. The long snout stretched cavernously wide, exposing jagged rows of yellow fangs strung with foul saliva. Its legs and haunches were dog-like, and its talons were big as pitchforks.
"Bless my balls," Tucker choked.
The huge four-legged wolfman leapt up from a coiled crouch, big as Tucker's horse, and tackled the stallion. The steed managed to stay upright from the first punishing blow, rearing in naked terror onto its hind legs. Tucker, horrified and awe-struck to be face to face with such a creature, struggled to control his animal. Thinking fast, he reined his rearing horse and used its pawing front hooves to knock the monster back. The werewolf got piledriver-kicked in the chest and with a hideous spitting snarl went sprawling to the ground in a cloud of dust, frothing saliva, radiating insanity from its eyeballs. Frighteningly fast, the beast was instantly back up on four paws on the ground. In a swipe of its ugly claws, the monster sheared the head of the stallion clean off its thick neck in an explosion of blood and trailing meat, sinew and spinal column. The severed horse's head bounced off the rocks, bursting like a ripe watermelon. Tucker went down with it and got pinned under the saddle as the heavy steed came to earth, bridle in the gaping mouth several yards away. The saddlebags of silver spilled from the harness and dozens of gleaming metallic objects clattered and clanked against the rocks. The cowboy was trapped under his headless horse, leg stuck beneath the saddle. He opened fire with both pistols over his dead animal's flanks, shooting the fast approaching wolfman in the chest and face multiple times. The .45 caliber slugs hammered the creature back and it raged in protest, but the bullets did it no permanent damage. Tucker knew his number was up. His hammers clicked on empty chambers.
The werewolf licked its wounds, ragged holes in its fur. Its pained eyes lost their dimness as they refocused on the helpless man trapped under the decapitated horse, gaze turning bloodthirsty as it rushed him. With a mighty heave, the gunfighter hauled his leg free of the bulky saddle and limp torso of his dead steed. He rolled away in the slippery, spreading lake of blood and gore dripping from the severed neck and staggered to his feet. Quickly reloading, he faced down the snarling, rearing creature that approached him in a mountain of furred fury, distended fanged muzzle drooling. Tucker cried out to the others, true alarm in his voice. "Hey I can use some help here you fucking assholes!"
"Here I come. Hot damn," Bodie roared back. His compatriot ran into the area and hoisted his shotgun, but was immediately paralyzed by the scene before him.
Now, the gunfighters surrounded the monster in the gully in a showdown triangulation, and all three were shadowed by its immense bulk. The two tethered horses were rearing against the trammels and snorting, bicycling hooves pawing the air and kicking up clouds of dust debris in their panic. Bodie pumped his Winchester 1897 shotgun and brought it to his shoulder, drawing a bead on the creature's face.
It spun to regard him with swirling mad whirlpools of eyes. The beast's lower jaw descended and disengaged and the maw gaped, impossibly wide open.
Bodie pulled the trigger, the stock bucking against his shoulder. He pumped and fired twice more for good measure.
And blew the werewolf's head clean off.
It grew back, but messier and disfigured, like a smeared oil painting.
The huge full moon illuminated her whole ghastly tableau bright as a searchlight, as if to make sure they saw everything, sparing them nothing. The three gunfighters just stood on three sides of the beast emptying their guns into it.
The creature hissed and spat and twisted from the onslaught of lead as they drew new weapons and used those, but it grew accustomed to the bullets and dropped to all fours waiting them out until they were empty. It eyeballed them patiently until the hammers of their weapons fell on empty chambers.
Fix grabbed the silver scepter from the tabernacle as the werewolf leapt on top of him. The creature impaled itself through the left rib cage on the sterling silver spear. The point went straight through its heart and exploded out its hairy back, trailing gore. Fix's eyes widened, knowing he was dead. But he wasn't.
The wolfman was.
The monster threw back its fang-snouted head in a dying howl of dismay. Its eyes darkened, and its hideous physiognomy shuddered and went limp as it died on the spear run through its body.
Fix sucked wind.
The other two gunfighters approached. Before their very eyes, the werewolf transformed back to a man in the pale moonlight. Now mortal, the corpse was covered with bullet scars, the shotgun-shattered, disfigured head and skull in human form not grown back properly. Even so, they all recognized Calderon.
Fix leapt back in abject disgust from the naked man flopping on him, repulsed.
Tucker stared, delirious. "Grab the silver. We're getting out of here before more of those things come after us." Too shaken to speak, the gunslingers scooped handfuls of the fallen silver back into the saddlebags. "Bodie, I'm taking your horse and you can ride with me until we can find a fresh mount."
"I didn't lose my horse, Tucker, you did. Why is it you're taking my horse?"
"Bodie, don't give me any shit. I mean right now, really don't give me any shit or I swear I will beat you down."
"Hey idiots."
Tucker and Bodie looked where Fix was pointing.
Calderon's horse calmly grazed nearby.
"Come on boys, we'll argue about this later. Let's get the fuck out of here."
The three of them swung into the saddles of the three spooked horses and galloped off into the beckoning desert.
They didn't even bother to retrieve all the spilled silver.
It was true.
Every damn word Pilar had said.
That bandit had turned into a monster man-wolf right before their eyes. They all saw it, and their guns couldn't kill it. Just the silver killed it, when stabbed through the creature's heart. Exactly like the girl had said. Damn. They should have known back at the church. He'd fired a pistolful of .45's into the bandit leader and the man _still_ walked and _still_ they hadn't believed her about the werewolves and the silver. But back at the box canyon, they saw the wolfman with their own eyes and _now_ they believed. Damn it all to Hell. What the girl had told them all along had been the gospel truth, but they laughed her off, stole her and her people's salvation and literally threw them to the wolves. Tucker cursed himself because Pilar was truthful, had been from the moment they met, and she'd been right about everything. Everything but them being good men. She had been so wrong about that.
All three of them were lower than those monsters. Reason was they lied. They gave their word to a woman and her people, and they broke it. Mosca, he didn't lie. He was what he was and said so. In his unspeakable way, he had principles like Pilar. And the Jefe spoke the truth when he stated that Tucker, Fix and Bodie were just like he and his fellow devils. Tucker feared he'd been right when those words were uttered, his own eyes locked to Mosca's powerful perceptive stare, and it frightened him because he hadn't wanted to believe it, because what surrounded those bandits in the church were death and blood and the stench of the dying. That place was Hell, and Mosca said it was where they all belonged together. But the Jefe was right, he saw that now. Tucker, Bodie and Fix were just like them and rightly should have joined up. Only difference was they didn't have the guts to admit what they were.
The gunfighters rode hard into the night and were far away from that terrible place, but by them taking the silver, Pilar would be raped and eaten alive in the church of Santa Sangre.
Tucker knew then they could never spend the silver.
It was bad money.
They were scum.
A voice roared in his brain louder than the thunder of their galloping hooves.
_No._
He and his boys were not like those dirty miserable creatures. Mosca was wrong. Tucker would prove him wrong. The cowboys were men. They had a choice. The landscape lay under the blanket of night beneath the light of the bright full moon, a patiently watchful eye waiting to see what their next move would be. Tucker suddenly reined his horse.
"Wait," he stated flatly.
The others stopped and faced him in their saddles.
"What are you doing?" Fix asked incredulously. He was gasping and sweating.
"We gotta go back." Tucker stated it like a plain and simple fact.
Bodie was beside himself. "You nuts? Back where those monsters are? We got the silver. We got all! We're rich!"
Tucker was resolved in himself. "I'm done doing the wrong thing."
Fix shook, full of dread. "We can't kill whatever those are."
"Silver bullets can."
"Give me one damn reason we should go back!" Bodie yelled.
Tucker locked his friends in a steely gaze. "Those people. We owe 'em. Gave 'em our word. We can't let those werewolves murder them people like that. If we ride away now with their silver, we'll never live it down and we'll be nothing ever again. I'm sick of things I've done, boys. It's time to stand up. I want to make a difference for a change."
Bodie looked wildly at Fix. "You ain't with Tucker on this are you?"
Fix's eyes hardened with resolve. "Tucker's right about one thing, them sons of bitches back there got to go."
That previous day, Pilar had waited patiently for the gunfighters on the other side of the ridge where they were to regroup by the blacksmith's shop if the men had lived to get the silver. The Mexican girl had heard the gunshots and knew the hour was nigh, but when she saw the three riders gallop away from the church on the horizon and keep riding north, her heart sank. They were leaving. Sunlight glinted off silver in their saddlebags and she knew the men had the treasure and were taking it. They had stolen her peoples' only protection and salvation, and she and her family were doomed. _So this is how it ends_ , thought the peasant. What had she expected with such men? They were no-account gunfighters and killers no different than the evil ones who had taken her people and her church.
That was yesterday.
This afternoon, Pilar dropped to her knees and gripped her crucifix and prayed. She prayed for her people. She prayed for her sister. She prayed for their passage from this world to Heaven. She felt herself of dust and nothingness and in her wretchedness she huddled in the utter emptiness of the desert where all was weakness and brutality and ugliness and death, but she was a simple girl, and under the hot sun in the dark hour of her abandonment and despair, her faith filled her. Her prayer was simple.
Deliver Us From Evil.
Then as she opened her eyes and cast a hopeless glance into the horizon, the Mexican rose to her feet, unable to believe her eyes.
The figures of the three riders were riding toward her.
Chapter Ten
"I knew you would not forsake us, _senors_."
The three gunfighters pulled up their horses beside her on the ridge, out of sight of the church. Tucker dismounted first. "Aw, heck. We're all gonna get killed but we're gonna take some of those sons of bitches with us."
Pilar embraced him.
The sun sank low.
He disengaged himself from the girl and tossed the saddlebags to the ground and the silver spilled out. "If we're gonna melt this into bullets we better get busy, we got four hours' daylight at best."
Fix sternly kept his own counsel as he untied his treasure-filled satchels and unloaded them onto the dirt, avoiding eye contact with the girl. Bodie stepped out of his stirrups, stinging. "But first, this little lady got some explaining to do about these sumbitches we're going up against."
Pilar eyed them all and came to a decision. "Come."
"Where?"
"With me."
The gunfighters exchanged glances, and Tucker threw a worried glance up to the sky and setting sun. Fix checked the pocket watch dangling by the chain on his vest and shook his head pessimistically, but the girl was already walking so they followed. She led them a short distance down the hard pack trail leading to the blacksmith's shed. Granite walls rose tightly on either side and midway down the path she stopped and turned to them and that's when they noticed a small cave in the arroyo. It was a few feet in height, just big enough to duck into. There was a wooden branch lying on the ground outside it. Pilar lifted it and struck a match, setting the end on fire.
Watching their heads, the gunfighters followed her in the cave.
Inside, all was darkness, but as the torch caught and the crackling flame on the branch bloomed with a gentle _hiss_ , their eyes grew accustomed, and they saw glimmering faces of rock in the jumping shadows. It was cool in the cave, a relief from the heat outside. The air smelt moist, wet and earthen. They heard the clump of their boots and the _woosh_ of the flame echoing in the confines of the cavern. The faces of the three gunslingers and the peasant girl were framed in the spooky flickering glimmer of the torch in her hand. The gunslingers followed in single file behind the silhouetted back of the peasant, careful where they placed their feet as she ventured deeply into the grotto without a word. The air grew cooler, and the light from the opening disappeared behind them. After thirty paces, the girl stopped, as did the cowboys.
She held the fire up to the stone wall and they saw the primitive cave drawings. "These were made by the Old Ones," she stated with a hushed awe. "They told how men came to walk like wolves." Flames danced around a crude etching of a group of stick-figure people and their animals.
"They were beggars..."
_Tell the tale, Pilar._
_Tell it well, as your mother told you and your grandmother told her, as parents have passed the tale down from generation to generation from the olden days before our village began._
_The gunfighters have now seen with their own eyes._
_They must know how the werewolves came to be._
_They must know who their enemy is._
_Mexico badlands. Ancient times. It was hundreds of years ago before the Spaniards came, before Christ, before guns, back when the tribes lived in caves._
_Nobody knew exactly where they came from. _
_The nomads were without a place, without a home. They had been wandering in the desert for as long as any of them could remember, and the desolation had cooked their brains. Some said they were Oaxaca Indians, whose forefathers were Aztecs. Most agree they had traveled from the south. It had certainly been a great distance. Perhaps they were driven out of their homeland by famine or plague or other tribes. Some said they were from Veracruz or Nicaragua, but they may have been Mexican. It did not matter for they had no home. They were refugees and displaced, the nameless. These homeless Indians traveled in a band of men, women and children, wearing rags, pulling carts. They were starving, dying of thirst, suffering from exposure. The group of itinerant natives drove several crude wooden carts and burros over the brutal rocky terrain under the blazing sun. They were filthy and stinking, their starving wives and children stumbling with them._
_Coyotes and buzzards trailed them, waiting for the unfortunates to die._
_Many dropped where they walked. The heat was as bad at night as it was in the day, boiling their brains in their skulls like ovens, their insides melting, and bodies stanching. Their skin turned black under the hot sun and eyes turned red and their tongues swelled under the heat. They fell to be abandoned to the trailing coyotes and buzzards. Without water, they sought nourishment in the saguaro and chollo cactus but the plants gave up no moisture, and they bled precious fluid from the prick of the spines. Finally, they drank their own piss, and Mosca himself pissed in the mouths of his men to try and get them a few more paces. So it is for some in the desert. But then their piss ran black and they could not drink it. _
_Yes, they are the same ones as the bandits in the church._
_The legend tells of them on the drawings on these walls, and this is how we know it is true._
_The leader of the nomads was the one who is now called Mosca, the Emperor Of The Flies. He led the nomads then as he leads the bandits now, for the ones who occupy the church of Santa Sangre are the ones who staggered back then across the old lands. We know this from his ageless eyes and in them we recognize the man who was in ancient times little more than a skeleton from starvation, who is now fat from gluttony on the flesh of humans, no longer hungry and dying of thirst. Yes, we know Mosca from his eyes, the compassion gone from his gaze, but while we fear him, we understand what changed him from the terrible tale of his people, how he and his monsters came to be._
_Once they were simply hungry, thirsty, yearning for a home and some small charity, but they were showed no mercy by mother earth or by the heavens, brother and sister sun and moon. The moon is a trickster, just like the coyotes, her minions on earth. We know why The Men Who Walk Like Wolves are savage as they are now, and what made them that way those long centuries ago. _
_Staggering through the sands under the beat of the sun, Mosca saw his ragged caravan stumbling behind him, delirious and dying, their feet crunching and sliding in the sand that burned their naked shoeless feet into blisters and sores. They trudged on from nowhere to noplace. The people whimpered, the babies bawled. Their cries echoed across the desolation that mocked them by its silence. Mosca probably cast many a sunburnt, fearful glance into the feral gaze of a predatory coyote in the distance. He no doubt shivered under the scavenger's unblinking stare, for once, he knew nothing but fear. This was a weaker, broken version of the man you see now. _
_Perhaps it was one of the beggar women, clutching her baby to an empty teat, who pointed at a village in the distance. It was a Mexican silver town. A settlement of pueblos. They were saved. These people would surely give them food, water, take them in. Surely they could spare a few crumbs. The nomads moved their caravan down the street of the prosperous mining village. The dwellings were adobe and built into the caves on the sides of a cliff. The beggars had come upon a town that was very rich with silver. A stream ran through the village, and the indigenous local tribesmen panned for the glittering treasure. They had long hair and wore colorful headdresses and loin cloths. Piles of the valuable mineral sat by the banks. Kiosks and trading posts were set up draped with sterling silver jewelry and refined silver rocks._
_Silver shined in the eyes of the beggars, who became intoxicated by all the wealth._
_They ignored the fierce, repelled looks they were getting from the well-to-do townsmen. Everywhere, the despised beggars were repulsed and turned away. Huge tables of food were set up and every manner of fish, game and vegetable were laden there for a feast. The starving itinerants came to the table and with pathetic gestures begged the local merchants for scraps. They should have been fed, been given drink. The children at least. Instead, they were cast out. A heavily armed group of local men approached menacingly, lifting rocks, spears, and bows and arrows. Back the refugees were driven into Mexican badlands. The local silver village tribesmen chased the beggars into the barren foothills, tossing rocks and stoning them, and shooting at the nameless ones with arrows. The people of the silver town had much silver to spare, but no pity for the unfortunates, and they ran them off with no mercy. The desperate nomads were weeping and crying out in terror and despair as they fled with their burros and carts, or what remained of them. The men clutched their malnourished babes in their arms and embraced their sobbing wives, unable to protect them from the sticks and rocks._
_Ah, see, Pilar, the gunfighters pay close heed, their eyes wide as ours were when our Old Ones told us the terrible tale, in the years before The Men Who Walk Like Wolves came. We have always expected them. _
_I move the billowing fiery torch to a second cave drawing beside the first, showing the stick figures throwing rocks and shooting arrows at primitive scrawl renderings of the fleeing beggars, and I continue my tale as it was told to me handed down from generations before. Now the gunfighters are exchanging glances, transfixed by the magical tale of how the werewolves came to be. I illuminate a third etching of a group of stick figures, a coyote and a big moon above them. And I continue my account..._
_That terrible night, the beggars understood it would be their last and they would starve or be eaten by coyotes. Night embraced the Mexican badlands of ancient times under the all-seeing eye of the full moon. It was an ugly white eye that never blinked, that sometimes squinted, sometimes was open, but once a month was wide as a stare and just such a yellow full moon hung overhead. The wretched nomads huddled around a campfire, half-naked with bones sticking out from malnutrition. Outside the meager warmth of their campfire, through the flames, they saw the faces of the hungry coyotes, waiting for the first chance to gobble them up. Beyond the circle of fire, past the flames, circled the scavenger silhouettes and reflective saucer eyes, fangs bared, mouths drooling. The people's dying eyes were full of fear in the firelight as they gathered together. The beggar leader Mosca grabbed their elder medicine man by the necklaces of feathers and claws and he must have gestured wildly to him, speaking in tongues. Do something. Anything. No matter what for nothing matters now, nothing could be any worse, we are at the end. And so it was young Mosca, the leader of the beggars and Emperor Of The Flies, commanded their shaman to pray to the spirits to give them powers, the strengths of the coyotes and wolves, that that they might survive the night and take what they needed to feed and protect their families. _
_The medicine man shook his head, pointing upward. No, he warned. Only the moon could grant those powers and the moon was a trickster, the cruel queen of the night, and she would only make things worse. _
_How could anything be worse, Mosca insisted. He punched the beggar elder and knocked him down, drawing his knife. Behind him, all the people yelled at the old man as the coyotes closed in. I can hear them now and were I they would have yelled the same as them. The nomads warned the medicine man to use his magic or they would die and promised to throw him to the wolves first if he did not. Reluctantly, the shaman rose to his feet and began to chant, throwing powders and turning his head to the giant orb of the full moon above. All the people chanted and danced. Outside the glimmering perimeter of the campfire, the shadows of the dancing beggars became distorted, grew giant and strange, and the coyotes fled in yelping terror._
_They prayed to the moon to become as wolves, and the moon she answered their prayers. _
_Speechless, the cowboys watch as I move the torch to a fourth cave drawing. It shows a large number of stick figures with their arms, legs and heads pulled to pieces over a red swath. Crude but scary sketches of wolflike creatures with red mouths and eyes and long teeth and claws are pictured ripping them asunder. I continue..._
_The first werewolves attacked the village that had refused them food and they devoured everyone and had full bellies. The Mexican silver town of olden times was a slaughterhouse. By the stark light of the full moon, a savage and hungry pack of wolfmen tore the villagers limb from the limb as the ground ran black with meat and blood and they gobbled screaming children whole. It was a ghastly spectacle. And after they butchered and ate the people, they took the precious silver. One of the creatures, Mosca it is said, grabbed clawfuls of moon-drenched silver jewelry from a shattered kiosk in its paws and stared mad-eyed at the shimmering metal, its slavering jaws drooling with greed. By the time The Men Who Walk Like Wolves departed, not a living soul in the village remained. _
_It is then that the truly terrible part of the legend begins._
_The sky of ancient times lightened overhead._
_Sunup._
_The moon gave up her domain to rest, for she had been very busy and was tired, and her single eye closed. After their feast, the werewolves returned to their wives and children and the moon laughed cruelly before she departed. The nomad camp was quiet. The beggar leader Mosca, returned to naked human form, stirred awake. He blinked open his eyes in the harsh sun, and saw the ground soaking wet. Red. The same sticky red smearing his hands he regarded in growing horror, the same red filling his mouth he rubbed. Removing the piles of silver treasure he lay covered with, Mosca sat up and saw why everything was so very damp._
_The tiny, scattered gnawed bones of his devoured child were beside him._
_Right next to the severed breast and upper section of his half-eaten wife._
_And the beggar screamed in unimaginable horror and beheld all the other nomad men returned to human form standing and screaming and staggering in indescribable terror amidst the chewed remains of their families._
_For the moon was a trickster and made The Men Who Walk Like Wolves eat their own. For by giving up their human nature, she had made them base and vile below all other beasts, forever outcast, cursed to become the monsters every full moon._
_As a coyote in the distance threw its head back and howled, the hideous screams of the beggar men who had been driven mad echoed like a death rattle across the barren land._
_So it is said this is how the werewolves came to be._
_And that is the end of my story._
__
Finished, Pilar regarded the attentive faces of the gunfighters standing by the cave painting, rugged countenances glimmering grimly by the flickering torchlight in the darkness. It took a few moments while the cowboys digested the legend before any of them spoke and that was after they looked one another over and up and down and back again.
"S'pose that's as good an explanation as any," Tucker said.
"Wouldn't have believed it if we hadn't seen these things with our own eyes. It's why we came back," Fix added.
"I almost feel sorry for them poor sorry ass sons of bitches." Bodie shook his head.
"Puts me of a mind to put 'em out of their misery."
"So the silver, the moon cursed that too, made it what would kill them?"
" _Si_. Or release them."
"That can be arranged."
"Little lady," Fix said quietly. "Guessin' by whoever drawed them pictures, the silver town stood in the valley where your village sits now, don't it?"
She nodded. "And the werewolves have returned. As they have returned before. And will again."
The little gunfighter scratched his jaw. "Well, I best believe we need to do something about that. That just won't do."
The pale ramparts of the pueblo church and steeple of Santa Sangre up on the hill lorded forebodingly over the huddled huts of the deserted village down below gripped by fingers of lengthening late afternoon shadows. The dwindling sun festered in the inflamed sky, lowering relentlessly toward the horizon. The vague outline of the nearly full moon intruded belligerently in the atmosphere, a ghostly specter impatient for the departure of the sun. There was a hush over the land.
Across the valley, the blacksmith's shop plumed smoke into the dusky sky.
Inside, the four worked.
Two huge weathered cast iron kettles were set on blazing coals and logs. A wooden cask of frigid river water sat a few feet from that, the top lidless.
Bodie dumped the saddlebags of sterling silver, religious artifact chalices, statuettes, plates and crucifixes into the pots. The silver figures lost their shape as they melted into a shiny, bubbling soup.
The heavy molds for the bullets were set nearby.
The job would obviously have been impossible without them. There were four of the mold platters in the .45 and .50 caliber dimensions. Fortunately, the peasants built their own bullets for hunting and protection because it was cheaper than purchasing new rounds and had made careful retrieval of all their empty slug casings when they fired them. The men of the village had been trained in the frugal habit from childhood when they first went hunting with their fathers, using the old bolt action Henry rifles they kept in good repair. A cask for gunpowder sat outside, safely clear of any flames. It was one of the few purchases the villagers were required to make from the town they ventured into once a month. Alas, the barrel of gunpowder was almost empty and the gunfighters needed to be parsimonious with the powder in their own bullets. Luckily, they had those aplenty.
After emptying their rifles, pistols, cartridge belts and the pouches of ammunition in their saddlebags, Bodie had counted out 1,010 rounds to their name.
While the silver melted, Pilar stirred the pot with an iron ladle. Tucker and Fix sat in the dirt with a pair of pliers each, tugging the lead bullet heads out of brass casings from the pile they had made of their rounds heaped beside them. They used a vise clamp to hold the casings as they yanked out the rounds and dumped them in another pile. Once those were removed, they took the empty cartridge casings and set them upright side by side on a wooden plank they placed on the ground, mindful not to spill any of the precious gunpowder. They had 450 headless slugs in rows so far, awaiting the insertion of the silver heads.
It had taken an hour, working without respite or discussion, each knowing their jobs, while the sun splayed deepening crimson shadows through the wooden slats of the blacksmith's shack on its steady march to the horizon and oblivion of the day.
The close rank air smelled of steel and firewood and char and body odor. The kettles of silver bubbled and popped like gleaming chromium molten lava, casting scintillating reflections on Pilar as she circled the ladle, making her face look metallic as a statue. She nodded at Bodie, and he came over with the first bullet mold, a steel tray with fifty rounded slots in a grid. Clenching the heavy plate with both hands by a pair of tongs, the Swede held it up as the peasant girl lifted a ladle dripping with pure liquid silver from the kettle. Careful not to burn either of them with the steaming brew, she poured the silver directly into the bullet mold, round hole by round hole. Her meticulous and deliberate manner ensured there was no overflow, and they wouldn't have to scrape the mold clean, which would waste precious time. It was a process that had them as taut in concentration as if they had been unloading and setting fuses to dynamite sticks wet and volatile with nitroglycerine from the heat. The lives of the four were in just as much jeopardy. When done, she nodded, and the big man very carefully lowered the mold into the cold water of the cask where it instantly steamed and _hissed_ and turned the metal solid.
Removing the mold and the silver slugs from the water cask, Bodie walked over to Tucker and Fix then swung a sledgehammer to knock the sterling bullet heads on the ground. While his compatriots gathered them up, he returned with the mold clenched in the clamps and held it out for Pilar. She began to ladle fresh molten silver from the kettle into the slots. The other two gunfighters set to work building the silver bullets directly. Putting ten empty gunpowder-filled casings at a time into the vise clamp, the men used pliers to press the new silver heads into the openings. They moved swiftly, and with the process repeated several times, the pile of magic bullets that would kill the werewolves grew on the ground.
The first set of silver bullets bad been cast.
They had fifty.
They had two hours.
Forty minutes produced five hundred fresh slug heads that Tucker and Fix completed as Pilar poured hot silver into the molds. Bodie used the tongs to dunk the __ hissing red hot molds into wooden buckets of cold river water. The steam cast a sinister fog over the primitive blacksmith's shop, wreathing the heroes in mythic silhouette as they did the work of the righteous. All were bathed in sweat. It was hot as a furnace in the close confines of the shed. Fix had loosed his collar, and Tucker had taken his shirt off. Bare chested, his muscles were drenched in perspiration. They passed a bottle of rotgut 100-proof whisky. This time the girl took a drink.
Tucker checked his pocket watch. "We've an hour and fifteen minutes to sundown, give or take."
Fix used a wrench to tug the slugs out of the bullet casings of their ammo belts then used the same tool to insert new sterling silver heads into the empty cartridges, careful not to spill the powder. A considerable heap of silver bullets sat on the wooden plank beside him.
"We got six hundred and seventeen rounds. We're doing about five hundred and thirty an hour. Let's pick up the pace, boys."
Tucker took inventory. "By my count, there's twenty-five of them sumbitches, less the one we sent to perdition back at the canyon."
"That's twenty-four hearts." Bodie grinned. "Right now, we got twenty-five shots apiece to nail 'em. We do our jobs right, we should be doing good on bullets."
"There's twenty four guns between them. We're gonna get hit and we may get shot dead so it could be two of us, or just one of us, doing the killing and we can't miss," Tucker pointed out. "One or two of us goes down, it fall t'other grab the others' silver bullets and he may not be situated."
"Meaning?"
"We need more bullets."
"He's right, there's only three of us and twenty-four of them."
"There are four," Pilar corrected.
"You ain't coming," refuted Bodie.
"I can fight." The beautiful brown girl stuck out her jaw, eyes proud.
Bodie shook his head. "That Hell-hole church is going to be a slaughterhouse, and it ain't no fit place for a lady."
"They are my people. I will fight. I will die."
Bodie kept working. "There's no way that's happening."
"Maybe she has a point," Fix disagreed.
"Tuck, talk some sense into her," the Swede practically shouted.
Tucker made the final decision. "We're going to need all the guns we can. She's coming. That's it."
"Can you shoot?" Fix inquired without preamble.
The look in the beautiful peasant girl's eyes revealed telltale hesitation.
Fix sighed. "Beautiful."
Tucker got off his knees, setting down the wrench and sliding his soaked shirt over his bare, rippling, sweat-dripping chest. "Well, little girl, if you're gonna go in guns blazing, I best believe you need to learn how to pull a trigger. I'll school ya." He rose. "Fix, Bodie, you stay here and keep making the bullets, many as you can. I'm gonna take the lady a short ride away where them sumbitches can't hear the shots 'n learn her to shoot."
Fix squinted. "We ain't got the bullets to waste."
Tucker ignored that, grabbing a few fistfuls of the standard .45s and displayed them in his open palm. "With these. Can't use none of our regular ammo anyhows. I'll gather the empties and bring 'em back." Holding out his hand like a gentleman, Tucker helped Pilar to her feet, and she blushed demurely. "Back in a few."
They departed the blacksmith's shop for the tethered horses outside and rode off.
Bodie glared at the departing riders as he poured more molten silver into the molds and set the container into the cauldron of icy river water with a steaming sizzle. "He's gonna fuck her."
Fix humorlessly jammed another gleaming slug into an open cartridge casing and tweaked it in with the clamps. "Shut up and work."
Both gunfighters returned to their business of manufacturing the silver bullets.
The desert flowers were in bloom, bright yellow and red blossoms on the arms of the saguaro and cholla cacti radiant in the hillocks of the barrows. Out in the desert a mile off, the two small figures of Tucker and Pilar rode across the big empty of the badlands as the sun inched closer to the distant mountains. Behind them, the church on the hill was miles back. Tucker had been following Pilar, and the short ride had put them well out of earshot of the village as they negotiated their horses into a verdant valley by a pebble-strewn draw. The creek that ran past the blacksmith's shed had widened into the clear stream that snaked through the gully, its fresh waters giving sustenance to all manner of vegetation in the lyrical oasis. This is what they had followed. The gunfighter knew they were running out of time, but trotting behind her, the sweet smell of her drifting back at him and mixing with the fragrance of the flora inclined him to linger. This was true beauty, and he had seen too little of it over the grim horrors of the last twenty-four hours. He just wanted to dawdle and take pleasure from it. Perhaps if they survived the coming battle, he could spend a little more time here. Tucker felt renewed, like he had something to live for. Best of all, it was just him and her. A man might stay awhile. A towering mescal cactus dominated the rocky, stark open area. That's what he had been looking for.
The cowboy reined his horse. "This'll do."
He dismounted and helped Pilar from her mustang, then started tying off their horses by the shore of the creek in the overhand of a paloverde tree. The steeds immediately stuck their snouts in the cool burbling brook and became otherwise occupied quenching their thirst.
The peasant waited patiently as the shootist unloaded an ammo belt from his saddlebags.
"We'll use yonder cactus for target practice," he said.
Pilar watched Tucker with big moist brown eyes, taking him in and absorbing every word he said. A soft wind whipped up over the plains and wafted her baggy clothes around the pleasing swells of her body. She brushed dust from her face.
Tucker drew a Colt Peacemaker and flipped open the cylinder to reveal a half-empty pistol.
"You open a gun like this. That button there."
She nodded, paying close attention.
"Take yer bullets, round side down, and stick 'em in the holes." He loaded the gun. Pressed the cylinder back into the revolver. "Close it till it clicks and yer good t' go."
Pilar smiled, standing beside him.
He lengthened his arm, lined up a shot on the cactus a hundred yards away and squeezed off a shot.
The blast reverberated around the valley, scattering crows and a nervous lizard that ducked under a rock.
Pilar shook at the sound.
A chunk of splintered plant fell from the dead center of the cactus.
"Easy as milking a cow, see?"
"Let me try," Pilar said eagerly.
"Your turn, m'am." He placed the pistol in her hand and their fingers touched, lingering. When he let go, the weight of the gun dropped her hand to her side from the heft.
"It's so big and heavy," she gasped.
"Mebbe it's best you use both hands, so grip it tight with both paws round the handle, and, you're right handed so it seems, put your right finger around the trigger." Fueled with adrenaline, the lovely peasant girl hoisted the pistol straight-armed with both hands and pointed it at the mescal cactus target.
"Take careful aim," he instructed. The gunslinger positioned himself behind her and ran his big, scarred hands down her elbows, peering over her shoulder. He smelled her hair and tried to focus, adjusting her arms to point the gun at the distant mescal. "Good. Now. Use one eye and look down the twin notches on the back of the gun and line 'em up with the sight notch on the front of the barrel so they are one thing, and put that on your target."
"Yes."
"You got 'em lined up?"
"Yes."
"Now, nice 'n easy, squeeze the trigger, don't pull. Go."
She fired with a satisfying _crack-boom,_ and the heavy hog leg kicked like a mule, knocking her backward into his big body, which he didn't mind, making him chuckle. Fear flashed in her eyes from the smoking iron she nearly dropped when it went off. The bullet ricocheted off a distant rock, missing the cactus.
"Try again. This time use your wrists to take the impact, now squeeze the trigger, nice 'n slow, don't pull. And if y'need a little motivation, picture that tree is one of them wolfmen sumbitches."
Swallowing, Pilar gamely took two-handed aim again with the Colt revolver at the cactus, carefully peering down the sight and this time she did it right. Squeezing the trigger, she blasted a hole in the trunk, dead center, flinching from the recoil but keeping her grip on the gun.
A tine flew to perdition.
"Good!"
The peasant girl fired twice more, putting two other rounds into the plant, a quick study.
"Good girl."
She smiled proudly and slid back in his arms as she lowered the pistol, slowly turning as she slipped the gun back in his holster, hands traveling up his shoulders as she stared in his eyes.
And they kissed.
His hands moved under her shirt. "Beauty like you a man'd walk into Hell for." His fingers got a handful of smooth tit and hard nipple. Pilar leaned back her head and her lips turned rubber with arousal.
"Burn with me," she pleaded, guttural and lustful.
She dropped the loose outfit from her shoulders and stood naked in front of him. Her proud breasts were nut brown, high and firm with dark nipples flushed with health. Her buttocks swelled in twin supple mounds. Her legs were long and strong, to the bushy black triangle below her navel. Tucker thought in her unbridled nakedness she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and he knew for certain what he was fighting for and why he had come.
Tucker stripped down and Pilar took in the fullness of him with a gasp, her breath catching. Then he kissed her hard, filling her lungs.
He eased her onto the ground.
The girl's legs parted, knees in the air, and the cowboy pressed himself in and she cried out as he came up against a stubborn resistance inside her. She gripped his shoulders, bearing up bravely as with new gentleness he pushed slowly and persistently until her girlhood gave way and he was slowly thrusting as she wept on his shoulder and a torrent of tender obscenities escaped her lips. They made vigorous love in the dirt until they came hard and loud and fell in each other's arms, still joined deep inside the sweet warm clench of her. They lay that way under the watchful desert flowers, naked bodies intertwined, and he saw the drops of blood on her smooth thigh. It was with the greatest reluctance that he disengaged of her and both nude lovers rose to their feet, walked into the cold stream and bathed one another tenderly head to foot.
The sun's descent called them back to town.
Tucker stood buckling his chaps while Pilar dressed in her baggy garb, drying herself from the creek and brushing her hair with her hands. The girl was flushed with physical satisfaction and a private, secret pleasure in her eyes. He watched her in all her mysteriousness, feeling young again, like he used to be. It had been so long. There were a few drops of blood on her pants. "We better go," she said.
"Reckon we best."
They mounted up.
As they settled into their saddles, he looked at her. "Pilar..."
She pushed her hair back from her happy face with her hands and gave him a well-laid smile. "Yes, Tucker," she said, her face and voice womanly now.
"I was your first." His voice was tender and awkward. She beamed at him and nodded. "A girl as beautiful as you. A village of young men. How can that be?"
The girl spoke from her heart as she gazed into his eyes with the force of nature. "I wanted my child to be a man such as you, a hero, not peasants like the men of my town. I saved myself waiting for the day you would come and always knew that you would answer my prayers."
He tipped his hat. "Pleased to be of assistance. Let's ride."
They galloped back toward the village.
Both, in ways separate and same, now were ready.
The blacksmith's shop was wreathed in smoke and steam. The sun festered in the bottom of the sky. Fix gave it the stink eye as he drank some well water and splashed some on his face, heading back inside. They were all out of time.
Bodie melted the silver. The saddlebags of church artifacts were empty and had all been melted down by now. His companion joined him quietly, pounding the silver bullet heads into open cartridges with a mallet.
The hours had passed swiftly.
The pile of bullets had grown large.
They had what they had. It would have to do.
"Where the hell are they?" Bodie wondered.
The other cowboy gave him a wry glance.
Bodie stewed. "The hell you say."
"Keep your mind on your work." Fix hammered away.
They busied making a few more silver bullets.
A short while later at dusk, the glowing Tucker and Pilar rode back to the blacksmith's shop and reentered the structure. The other cowboys flicked glances at their friend, savvying the situation. It was twilight, and they had melted down all the silver and turned it into slugs. "We have exactly 837 rounds," counted Bodie.
Fix eyeballed the dimming sky. "And daylight's a memory."
"There's something else you must know." Pilar faced them all and her eyes were urgent. "Use caution not just not to be killed. Take great care not to be bitten by the werewolf, for if you are, if they draw your blood, you will become a monster such as they. This is how they make others like them."
"So we just get bit by one of these sumbitches we sprout hair?" Tucker inquired nervously.
" _Si_." She nodded.
"Good to know," said Fix.
Tucker drew his pistols, spinning them around his fingers until they were butt side up, and he flipped open the twin cylinders. "We got some killing to do."
They armed up, loading the gleaming silver rounds, pressing the cartridges into ammo belts, shoving them into the breeches of their rifles, plugging them into the orifices of every pistol they had and sticking them into their holsters.
"What's that?" Tucker asked. Bodie was grinning proudly, holding out three crude but nasty sharp silver blades atop sledgehammer-rounded silver grips he had forged.
"A little something for in-close work." The Swede chuckled affably and tossed his friends the two silver blades, sheathing the third himself.
"Let's make a plan." The natural leader hunkered down in the flickering firelight of the coals, drawing with a poker a crude square map layout of the church floor plan in the dirt on the ground. "This is the chapel. Front door here."
He made an X.
"Back room where they got those people, here."
Another X.
"We're here."
X.
"Figure we got mebbe twenty-four of them sumbitches, mostly inside here." He scratched dirt with the poker head inside the scrawled rectangle. "But be careful they aren't positioned outside, anywhere around here." He drew a circle around the square. The other two cowboys and the peasant girl squatted beside him around the map, reviewing it alertly.
Fix raised an eyebrow, studying the diagram. "They got a back door to this dump?"
Pilar nodded. "Yes, a small door in the back that goes under the church to a hatch into the back room."
Bodie uncrossed his legs. "The sumbitches know about that?"
Pilar's gaze clouded with uncertainty. "I do not know."
Fix looked up, chewing his lip. "Maybe we can create a diversion in the front, and Pilar can slip past them varmints through the back."
"Good." Tucker nodded. He used his finger to draw arrows and lines indicating the four of them and their directions of attack. "So that's the plan. Fix, Bodie, you and me ride up front, go in blasting. Pilar goes around back, sneaks in and lets them folks out the back way."
Bodie shrugged, amenably. "Whatever you boys think is best."
Tucker looked them all over. "If we're lucky, the werewolves won't notice those people is on the move until it's too late."
Pilar's brow furrowed. "But what if they see us in the back and attack. We will be slaughtered."
Bodie nodded. "The girl's got a point. It's risky. Those people don't have weapons. I say we give her a few guns and silver ammo so she can pass 'em out to her people that best can shoot, that way we squeeze those creatures in a shit sandwich." Bodie looked at Pilar, and she nodded with a small smile.
"If we die, we die bad."
Fix stood up with a grunt and straightened, hands on his hips, leaning back and popping his spine and stuffing his pearl-handled Colts into his side holsters with a squeak of leather. "Then there's only one thing for us to do."
Tucker looked at him sideways, fingering his beard. "What's that?"
" _Kill 'em all_." A slow smile spread across the hard little man's face. His eyes twinkled. The others grinned too, and just then a vast and ominous epic shadow fell across their faces as through the slats in the blacksmith's shed a mean slender red thread on the horizon was all that remained of the sun.
"It's time," said Tucker.
"Let's do it," said Bodie.
"What are we waitin' for?" said Fix.
The four heroes gathered up their ammo belts stuffed with silver bullets and their many guns. They stuck the rifles, pistols and silver rounds that were not on their person in their saddlebags and saddle holsters, weighing down their steeds. Tucker loaded up Pilar's mustang with weapons, seeing to it she had guns and ammo to distribute to her villagers when she broke them out. The animals were tense and obedient, somehow sensing the great battle ahead. Outside the blacksmith's shop, the three gunfighters and the peasant girl mounted up on their horses.
The men tipped their hats to her.
"Good luck." Tucker smiled.
She crossed herself. "God bless you."
The three men and the lone girl rode off in two different directions.
Chapter Eleven
The village lay in repose at dusk.
The deserted town was bathed in an ominous red twilight hue.
Three lone gunfighters rode through the shadows of the empty square toward the hill leading up to the church. Above them dead ahead, Santa Sangre loomed, its stark white walls and steeple bathed in crimson light, the doors and windows shadowed, like a stripped skull. The hard men kept their hands near their weapons as they trotted down the empty dirt street. It was a long ride, and the world seemed to bend around them, extending the distance toward the inevitable. Nothing moved, there was no sound but the quiet clop of their horses. The vultures were gone, resting up for the feast to come. It was easy to imagine. Ever bigger grew the hill and, atop, the towering ramparts of the brooding mission of iniquity where their combined intertwined destinies had led them. Then the town fell behind them and their horses embarked upon the gravel path winding up a steep grade toward the gloomy doors of perdition, and the hour was nigh.
The untended fields sprawled eerily quiet and still in the gloaming. Dead crops were draped in burgeoning shadows. The peasant girl rode bravely alone around the back of the hill leading toward the rear of the church, steeple rising sinister and stark against the dying embers of the sun. The white pueblo of the church of Santa Sangre was the color of blood, like its namesake, she thought. The wheels of fate were set in motion and it was in the hands of God now, Pilar accepted as she gripped her reins. She knew no fear. She was doing her part.
As her rump smacked against the saddle leather, the girl scanned the arid piles of wheat and corn on either side of the rows. She remembered running through them as a little girl with flowers in her hair when the crops grew tall and proud and golden, waving to the farmers on some beautiful forgotten day when the village was happy, and she was young and knew what it was to play. Now, as Pilar rode through the decaying chaff of the fields, she beheld the exaggerated shadow of herself on her horse, rifle sticking up, bosom sticking out, hair seeming to billow and blow ethereally behind her in the wind like a warrior goddess. She thought that mythical silhouette looked as splendid as a heroine on one of the cover paintings of her dime western books. Yet it was her, so she breathed that idealized shadow image into her whole being. It buttressed her spirit and she drew strength from it. Alone on the ride to Santa Sangre, profoundly solitary in the calm before the coming storm, engulfed by the hush of vast empty fields, Pilar knew what it was to be her own hero. The hill to the cathedral was very close now, maybe a hundred yards, and the narrow trail she would ride up came into view. Many thoughts filled her young mind now. She wondered how many of her people were still alive within the walls ahead. She wondered if the gunfighters had already arrived there. Over and over in her head, she planned her entrance through the back door of the church, so she did it right when the time came, knowing that moment was mere minutes away. She must not fail. They must not fail. But a church was as good a place to die as any, Pilar thought, thinking the gunfighters' wry cynicism must be rubbing off on her.
Now the time for thinking was over.
The time for action had come.
Her horse took the hill.
The sun dropped below the bloody horizon by the time The Guns Of Santa Sangre rode to the doors of the church. They were draped with ammunition belts loaded with silver bullets, and each of them carried a rifle slung over their shoulder and had two pistols stuck in their holsters.
Mosca sat on the step waiting for them, his eyes like destiny. "I said you would be back."
"Let them people go."
"And if we don't?"
"We'll kill all you son of a bitches."
The Jefe smiled ironically to himself, tossed a pebble, then rose to his feet, brushing off the seat of his pants. "You should not have brought my mother into it, gringo. My mother is not a bitch. She heard how you insulted her and she is very angry. She is here now. With us. Look." Mosca pointed to the sky and the almost full moon on the rise, an omnipresent white orb looming like a hallucination in the feverish nocturnal desert atmosphere. The gunslingers saw the moon but looked quickly back to the bandit leader, whose voice had disturbingly changed, becoming guttural and coarse. " _Mi madre ve y oye todos_ , she sees and hears all. My mother, the mother of my men and I, is the moon and we are her children, _comprende_? The children of the night. _Los ninos de la noche_. She is full. I love her. _Amor a mi madre_. Tonight she shall enjoy watching as you die very, very badly, gringos."
Bodie, Fix and Tucker looked around and realized that while Mosca was talking, fifteen bandits had quietly surrounded them like prowling coyotes, closing off the road up the hill. Tall, hulking shadows lurked in the pale moonlight and their eyes seemed to be glowing red.
Mosca grinned, flashing his rows of gold teeth. He closed his mouth, smiling, working his jaw, his tongue moving inside his cheeks. Then he put his hand on his mouth and spat something into it. Reaching out his fist, he opened that hand and in his palm was a pile of gold teeth. The gunfighters looked at the bandit leader who looked back at them, his mouth opening as his lips pulled back in his fat face revealing rows of toothless gums. Then, before their eyes, new teeth pushed through the gums, sharp and white and canine.
The gunslingers exchanged laconic glances. "This is bad."
The other bandits were disrobing, their bodies convulsing.
The cowboys' frightened horses suddenly reared, neighing in raw terror, nostrils snorting, hooves pawing the air, pitching the gunfighters out of their saddles to the dirt. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of Tucker, Bodie and Fix. As they crawled to their hands and knees and looked around, what they witnessed was beyond comprehension.
Mosca and his men were going into seizures, screaming, howling and frothing at the mouth, their entire bodies spasming. Beneath their stretching skin and new thick, black hair, their bones were lengthening and rearranging with cracking, ripping, squishing sounds. Their lower legs began to bend and extend like the hind legs of dogs, kicking up the dust, which filled the air and turned them into nightmarish silhouettes. Long claws popped out their nails in splatters of blood as the spikes cut through the flesh of their fingertips. Their hands curled and elongated into foot-long talons.
Tucker grabbed for his fallen pistol that lay by the foot of one of the bandits and saw that foot sprout fur and the toes grow pads and bloat into a paw.
"Aim for the hearts!" shouted Tucker.
A barrage of bullets exploded as the gunfighters' pistols blazed away, and they pumped silver into the chests of eight of the transforming werewolves. The cowboys were dead shots and punched ragged holes into two of the beasts' rib cages over their beating hearts. Instantly, those creatures roared and howled in dying agony, dropping to the ground, huge paws and talons slashing the air until they stiffened, fell still and died in the dirt, blood jetting like fountains from their wounds.
As soon as they were dead, the werewolves instantly transformed back into men. The inhuman shapes of the monsters' awful anatomies shrunk, reverting to the small, broken, filthy naked bodies of the bandits sprawled on the ground.
Immediately, their werewolf brethren set upon the human carcasses of their comrades and ate them whole. The beasts' savage canine jaws ripped and tore flesh and muscle from bloody bone and gulped it down viciously, eyes red coals, clawing and slashing one another to get at the chow. The wolfmen were distracted in their cannibalistic feeding frenzy long enough for the gunfighters to crawl to cover for a few short moments. The cowboys tightened themselves into a circle, facing the werewolves who again closed in on all sides, shrieking and spitting in mad-eyed rage. The hairy creatures reared and crouched, glaring at the gunfighters.
They attacked.
The three horses the shootists rode in on rolled and tumbled down the hill, throwing up huge clouds of dirt, until the steeds got themselves upright and stood outside the perimeter, rearing and watching the action. Scrambling to his boots, Bodie drew both revolvers, silver bullet tips glinting in the cylinder, and stood to face the bandits. His eyes widened. The gunslinger was staring right in the furry face of Mosca, whose jawbone dislocated as the front upper teeth stretched forward, cartilage crunching. Further and further, jagged white fangs sliced through the gums like rolls of razors, as the nose became a black snout that jutted two feet out of the face to give him the head of a gigantic wolf. Hairy, pointed ears twitched. Saliva and froth spewed from the mouth as its long tongue slathered and swept hungrily. The spine stretched and bullwhipped as the rib cage became narrow and deep and hollowed, and on its huge back paws with its long arms and massive talons, the eight-foot werewolf towered over Bodie. A thick, bushy and furred tail swept behind its haunches.
Tucker, Bodie and Fix blasted away with their irons, unleashing gunshots that leapt like bolts of lightning from their muzzles as they fired into the mob of wolfmen, sending a few more straight to Hell. The moon splashed down on the scene like a searchlight, emblazoning the creatures the bandits had become. Their horrific transformation complete, fourteen of the hissing, snarling, roaring monsters clambered over one another to tear the cowboys to ribbons. The three men hit the ground and rolled on their stomachs through the open doors of the church, taking the battle into the belly of the beast that was Santa Sangre.
Inside the gloomy pueblo chapel, the gunfighters ducked behind a blood-smeared pew, emptying their guns into the wall of monsters. Tucker unslung his Winchester repeater and gave Bodie and Fix cover as they reloaded their pistols with silver rounds from the belts strapped on their chests. They were instantly surrounded as the fearsome hairy creatures advanced on them through the open doors of the church and closed in right and left through the nave like a pack of titanic wolves. The air was rent with a supernatural cacophony of throaty roars. Bodie and Fix rearmed and spun their cylinders shut with a whizzing _whirr_ , a Colt pistol in each hand. The gunfighters took deadly aim at the werewolves who leaped for them just as they unleashed silver with their guns.
Pumping a shot smack into the heart of a wolfman, Fix saw it slam back into the pueblo wall and sink to the floor, smearing a snail trail of gore as it reverted to dead human form. The other creatures hungrily devoured the corpse and tore at one another to get a mouthful of a ripped-off severed leg, tugging the limb in their jaws like mongrels fighting over a bone.
Inhuman shadows fell over Bodie, who whirled to see two creatures pouncing toward him. With a gun in each hand he shot them in the hearts and it was two dead stinking bandits that landed on him before he shoved them off and fired at the other monsters over the pews. He ran out of bullets fast and was just starting to reload when he saw the shadow of werewolf jumping at him from behind. Yanking the forged silver knife from his belt, Bodie spun and slammed the blade to the hilt in the monster's upper left chest, giving the weapon a nasty twist as he killed the beast.
The close quarters of the church rang loudly with the roars and snarls of the creatures and the deafening gun-blasts reverberating off the walls. Combined with the horrid, fetid stench of the creatures, the smell of gunpowder and cordite and their own sweat of fear, the gunfighters were nearly overcome.
One of the bullets ricocheted in a shower of sparks off a holy water fountain and the sparks quickly ignited the hanging curtains by the busted windows. A serpent of flame slithered up the drapes and coiled across the wooden beams of the ceiling, a viper's nest of fire quickly spreading over the roof.
Tucker raised his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger just as a werewolf dove on him, slavering jaws spread wide as an open bear trap. The creature landed mouth first on the long steel barrel of the Sharp's rifle and when the weapon discharged it exploded its skull in a gory raining galaxy of brain and fur and bone fragment as its head was blown clean off. The heavy carcass of the monster landed on the gunfighter, who yanked the barrel of the rifle out of the grisly trailing viscera of the blood-jetting neck stump still dangling a loosely attached lower jaw.
But the werewolf was not dead.
Its decapitated torso became violently animated, and its talons struggled to slash at the cowboy pinned under it.
Tucker pulled the trigger repeatedly but he was out of bullets, silver or otherwise. Desperately, he quickly brandished the Sharps rifle, gripping it by the stock, and the hot barrel seared his palm as he braced it against the wolfman's powerful limbs, pinning the talons away from his face the claws slashed viciously at. "Boys!" he yelled in panic. The haunches of the headless creature's hindquarters pumped, its rear legs climbing against the floor, padded back talons digging into the blood-slippery wood. Tucker struggled, his grip on the gun keeping the monster off him weakening as the jagged claws _whished_ through the air by his face to claw it off. Suddenly, the cowboy felt an awful searing pain in his shoulder and winced as blood sprayed his face from a ragged wound. He was going to die for sure, he knew it, and gave a last hopeless sidelong glance at the ground to see Fix drawing one of his pistols from his holster and tossing it skidding around and around in circles, across the floor right into Tucker's open hand. That same hand closed around the handle of the Colt Peacemaker and jammed the muzzle of the long barrel under the left side of the chest of the werewolf where the heart was. His forefinger squeezed the trigger, blowing the still-pumping heart out the back of the monster's spine.
The creature fell across him, very dead.
Santa Sangre was engulfed in flames by now, and angry tendrils of conflagration plumed across the wooden rafters of the church as smoke billowed through the fulgurations of fire. Pieces of blazing timber dropped from the ceiling inferno onto a few of the werewolves and they instantly ignited, fur spewing flames, but still the burning creatures attacked.
Hell had come to earth.
The outside of the church sat under the dank cover of night beneath the bright nearly full moon. Unobserved, Pilar carefully rode her horse up to the back hitching post, dismounted, and drew her pistol she held with both hands. She slung the straps of four repeater rifles over her young shoulders, grabbing the bag of silver bullets her gunfighters had given her to arm the peasants. The girl could hear the roars and gunshots booming from within the cathedral. There was a thickening fog of smoke from the fire wreathing the area. The peasant girl drifted in silhouette, clenching the hog leg of a pistol as she slid up against the wall, eyes wide, checking the area for werewolves.
A fresh fusillade of shots from inside.
More monstrous roars.
Now screams.
The hulking shape of something huge reared in the dense smoke. Gasping, Pilar raised the gun in both hands and pointed it. She released her breath. The apparition was only another frightened horse tethered to a post. Exhaling, the peasant reached the tiny door at the base of the wall. It was a square of oak, with a latch on a dowel that slotted into a notch. She opened it and crawled inside, bravely entering the church on her hands and knees.
Under the building there was a crawlspace, barely two feet of distance between the cathedral floorboards and the dirt ground. Pulling herself along on her belly, the peasant girl gripped the guns and crawled beneath the floor over bare earth through the murky darkness. Firelight pulsed through the smoky spaces between the slats above her. Sporadic gunshots, thuds of falling bodies, animalistic roars, shouting voices, frightened and agonized screams were a distorted, muffled symphony. The girl knew where she was going and dragged herself on bent elbows and knees through the soil steadily deeper into the crawlspace.
Then she saw the eyes. Red. Glittering. Hundreds of them like tiny coals in the thick choking smoke. Pilar froze in terror, gagging from the rank, suffocating fumes of the close atmosphere. A horrible furry sea of rats came squealing and scrambling in an undulating rancid carpet out of the gloom at her, crawling all over her pinned body as she helplessly screamed, utterly hysterical. Then the rats were gone. They had been fleeing in stampeding panic, not attacking.
Gasping in relief under the planks, she was almost about to move when she heard the wings. A vast, fluttering curtain of squeaking vampire bats surged out of the inky smoke-filled darkness in a storm cloud of flapping wings, jeweled eyes, sharp teeth and skeletal claws. The airborne rodents hit Pilar like a tidal wave as she screamed hysterically all over again, covering her head as the flood of bats washed over her. Then they, too, beat a hasty retreat.
Gripped with fear and fighting tears, Pilar finally reached her destination. A trap door directly over her. Footfalls on the floorboards above. "It is me, Pilar! Let me up."
Her mother's voice responded. "Pilar!"
"Mama it is me, open the hatch!"
_GGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR..._
Pilar froze at the low growl, nearby. Two glowing red eyes, not bat or rat but big as plates, shone in the dark. It was what the vermin were fleeing. The gigantic hungry werewolf was down in the crawlspace with her. The bristly spine of its unnatural back crammed into the tight space rubbed along the planks above as it pulled itself out of the gloom on its big thick paws with a steady _scrape scrape scrape._ Its fanged jaws snapped at the air, tongue lolling, nostrils flaring. The monster's progress was slow but relentless.
"Open the hatch, Mama! Hurry!" Pilar cried desperately.
Above her, many hands fumbled with the latch and threw it open. She gripped the pistol in both fists and fired twice into the darkness between the red saucers. One of them went dark as she shot an eye out. The savage creature howled in berserk high-pitched agony and pounced at her. Just as the hatch was flung open, the girl leapt upward, bare feet leaving the dirt ground under the church just as a hairy tree trunk of an arm and shovel of a talon raked at dead air where she had lain an instant before.
Leaping up through the trap door, Pilar landed on both feet safely on the wooden floorboards of the small back room, catching her balance as the guns clattered to the ground, surrounded by the people of the village who had been imprisoned in the room. Her townsmen slammed the hatch shut and locked it. Quickly, the girl took her pistol in a two-handed grip like Tucker taught her and pumped a full load of bullets through the floorboards at the unseen creature pounding on the locked hatch. The planks kicked up splintered wood as the slugs thudded holes into them. Underneath, the wounded maddened creature wailed in dismal anguish but still beat on the floor in its weakened state.
"I knew you would come."
Pilar turned breathlessly to see Bonita standing facing her, her little sister's eyes bright and tearful.
"I promised I would come back for you, little one, didn't I?" Overjoyed, Pilar set down her weapons and swept Bonita up in her arms, hugging her in blessed relief and gratefully kissing the girl's face and head. Brushing away the child's filthy hair, the girl looked her over, checking for injuries. "Are you alright, Bonita, did they hurt you, were you scared?"
Bonita smiled like sunlight and shook her head vigorously. "I wasn't scared, not really, because you always keep your promises."
" _Bueno_."
Now the gunfire was growing more clamorous in the chapel next door and Pilar set Bonita down for there was much to do to get everyone out of there alive. Her vow to her sister was unfulfilled as yet.
" _Mi hija_." Having almost forgotten about her, Pilar choked back tears at the sight of her mother's wrinkled, beaming, sobbing face. The little old woman embraced her joyfully and the other villagers hugged Pilar with great relief that she was alive. She kissed and clenched hands with a few, then shook them off, reloading her pistol with silver bullets. "I have brought men. We have made silver bullets for our guns to kill the werewolves. But we must hurry. Make haste, my friends."
"What do we do?" Her mother trembled.
"While they fight them and kill them," her daughter replied, "we go out the back way and take the horses."
More roars came from below as another werewolf joined the first one beneath the floorboards, blocking their retreat. The crowd of unarmed villagers exchanged fearful glances. The boards below their feet shook and began to crack from the onslaught of claws below, trying to get at them.
"So now we make a different plan." Pilar shrugged.
She passed out the guns.
Inside the church, the cowboy gunfighters engaged the monsters in a pitched battle.
"Get those people the hell out of here!" Tucker yelled to Bodie as he cranked off shot after shot with his Winchester rifle at the wall of hair, fangs and claws. Fix gave his buddy cover as Bodie leapt over the pews, scrambling across the burning altar. The big Swede could already hear the muffled screams and cries for help from the trapped villagers inside the back room. He leapt onto the tabernacle. Reaching the door, he crisscrossed his arms, firing the pistols in opposite directions, smoothly shooting two werewolves coming at him on either side straight through the heart. The two beasts fell, swiftly transforming back into men and were quickly devoured by three wolfmen resembling eight-foot-tall fiery torches. The stench of burning fur and rank canine flesh choked the cowboy as he jerked back the wooden beam bolting the door and flung it wide.
A flood of grateful peasants poured out of the room like a tidal wave of water from a burst dam. Bodie held them back but the people froze in their tracks when they got an eyeful of the spectacular horrific tableau of the fiery church swarming with werewolves that blocked their way.
"Give 'em guns and ammo!" yelled Tucker.
Fix was already on it, grabbing a belt of silver bullets and shoving them into the waiting hands of the villagers. He grabbed an armload of rifles and pistols from the bandits' weapons stockpile and dumped them on the altar. The peasants swiftly took up arms and grabbed fistfuls of silver bullets and stuffed them in the breeches and cylinders of the firearms. The naked women, the fight back in them, also brandished weapons. Sweat glistened on their bare heaving breasts.
"Shoot for the hearts! _El Corazon_! _El Corazon_!" Tucker shouted, gesturing to them, and put a round square into the left side of a rampaging wolfman, dropping it in his tracks, to demonstrate.
The Mexicans crossed themselves in awe as they saw the corpse go from beast to man but then they got busy shooting werewolves. Pilar stood in front of the others, firing her pistol in a two-handed grip. The air filled with gunfire as bullets screamed and ricocheted and caromed. Fangs and claws and fur flew. All was chaos. A final battle of good and evil was taking place as side by side the gunslingers fought with the villagers as one army, making a last stand, delivering the seemingly relentless hordes of werewolves to perdition. They fired until their guns were empty, hammers clicking uselessly on spent chambers. They were out of silver bullets.
More monsters reared out of the flames. Forced back, the humans retreated to the vestibule. The creatures blocked their escape through the front doors of the church and advanced on them, enraged.
Then Tucker saw it on the floor.
A last canvas ammo belt filled with silver bullet cartridges.
The cowboy leapt forward and picked it up, falling back into the huddled group of his fellow gunfighters and the villagers cornered in the nave. Even though he had the ammo belt, he knew in the time it would take them to reload their guns, the werewolves would tear them asunder.
So the cowboy pulled his arm back and heaved the last ammunition belt as hard as he could at the wolfman leading the pack.
The creature caught it in his talons.
It was the beast whose eyes Tucker recognized as Mosca, the bandit leader. Its black rubbery lips pulled back in a drooling leer over the rows of bloody fangs as it held up the ammo belt as if to display it in triumph. Flames licked across the fur of its arms but it paid them no notice.
The other ten werewolves stomped forward through the burning pews, their paws collapsing the cindered wood in showers of sparks and timber as the creatures gathered to the right and left of the leader of the pack. Mosca threw his snout back and roared savagely, clenching the canvas strap lined with silver slugs.
The werewolves did not see that the canvas belt had caught on fire.
Flames were licking the metal casings, turning them red hot...
Just like Tucker planned.
He winked at Bodie and Fix.
"Get down!" The three gunslingers shouted in warning as they jumped up and dragged the villagers behind the altar, shielding the peasants with their bodies.
_PAPAPAPAPAPAPKAKAKAKAKAKAPAPAPAPAPKAKAKAKAOW!_
The air was rent with deafening gunfire, as every single one of the seventy-five silver bullets in the burning ammo belt held in the wolfman's paw fired in staccato sequence like a string of firecrackers going off, slugs flying in every direction, the rounds peppering the werewolves and making them dance spastically. Bloody eruptions like red flowers blossomed in their heads, arms, legs and stomachs.
And hearts.
With final despairing yelps of defiance and pain, the remaining werewolves dropped dead, crumpling onto the incinerated pews and floor of the immolating chapel.
As their bodies returned to human form, the flames cremated the corpses until all was ash.
The Men Who Walk Like Wolves walked no more.
The people raised their guns and cheered.
The open doors to the church lay open, beckoning out to the bright, moonlit, fresh night air and safety. There wasn't much time. The gunfighters and villagers saw Santa Sangre was coming down on their heads. Pieces of the roof fell in burning piles of torched timber.
"Go!" The gunslingers grabbed the villagers and hauled them through the smoldering aisles, ducking the fiery debris raining down and exploding in showers of flame and sparks all about them. The people plunged headlong through the open doors of the church and they ran and fell and tumbled down the hill. Behind their fleeing figures, the roof and parapet of the spire of Santa Sangre collapsed in on itself and the blazing steeple crashed to earth.
The heavy mission bell hit the ground and sounded in a last single ringing gong that sang over the town and the desert, echoing across the land.
The only silver left was one bullet in the chamber of Tucker's gun.
In the final hours before dawn, the gunfighters had scoured the rubble of the church, searching in vain for the slugs they'd slammed in the hearts of the werewolves, but the bandits were ash and unaccountably so were the silver bullets that killed them. Bodie said it didn't make any damn sense. Fix said it was just part of a whole lot of things that didn't make any damn sense and never would.
"You win some you lose some," Tucker said.
Tired, wounded and downhearted, the three gunfighters trod down the hill. The whole village stood waiting for them. The gratitude and respect in their faces sobered the gunfighters, who watched as the men and women bowed. The girl peasant who had first walked up to them the day before and brought them here with promises of silver now bid them farewell with no silver, yet something of greater value.
"You are men of true honor. There is no price to this or measure of our people's thankfulness," Pilar spoke softly. "We will never forget you and your legend will be told by our children's children."
"Hell, we didn't have nothing better to do," said Tucker. He stood before Pilar and in her loving eyes saw home, but he knew he couldn't stay. He wanted to say something but he couldn't, yet in her steady gaze he saw she understood, had before they ever met, that this was how it was supposed to be and everything was alright now. Time to part.
The villagers brought the gunslingers their horses and saddles and the big men mounted up. The entire village watched the men go. As the three cowboys rode to the top of the ridge, they were bathed in rosy dawn light.
Pilar stood in front of the other villagers, her beatific face whipped by the wind, features shining with love and pride and rewarded faith to last a dozen lifetimes as she watched her heroes ride off into destiny.
She touched her belly and smiled.
Up on the ridge, the men sat in their saddles wearily, looking behind them down into the valley. Santa Sangre lay in ashes, but the tiny figures of the villagers were already sifting through the smoking rubble, like ants on a dirt hole.
Fix shook his head. "They're rebuildin' the damn church. Don't got money to eat but looks to me like they already puttin' it back up again." He took a pull of the bottle of whisky and tossed it to Bodie, who had a swig and chucked the bottle to Tucker.
Opening his gloved fist, Tucker held out the last silver bullet that was all that remained of the treasure. "This silver wouldn't buy us a drink, boys," he spit. "We're as broke as when we rode in."
"Somebody had to kill them son of a bitches. They had it coming," stated Fix.
"Boys, we done some bad stuff before, maybe we'll do bad again, but today we're the good guys. It's a damn good feeling," said Bodie.
They all smiled at one another, nodding. "Good deeds could get to be a bad habit," added Tucker ironically.
"So what we gonna do about you, Tucker?" said Fix, indicating his fellow gunslinger's bandaged shoulder. "You got bit. That means you're gonna turn into one of those werewolves."
"Don't know if it was a bite, mebbe it could have been a scratch, I disremember." Tucker eyed his companions with a wry glint in his eye. "Reckon I got a month before the next full moon and you boys find out." He eyed the lone silver bullet in his hand then chucked it to Fix, who caught it. "Which case, you'll know what to do with this."
"We're friends until then."
"Until then."
They laughed, their friendly voices carrying across the rough badlands.
The Guns of Santa Sangre rode off.
About the Author
Eric Red is a Los Angeles-based motion picture screenwriter, director and author. His original scripts include _The Hitcher_ for Tri Star, _Near Dark_ for DeLaurentiis Entertainment Group, _Blue Steel_ for MGM and the western _The Last Outlaw_ for HBO. He directed and wrote the crime film _Cohen and Tate_ for Hemdale, _Body Parts_ for Paramount, _Undertow_ for Showtime, _Bad Moon_ for Warner Bros. and the ghost story _100 Feet_ for Grand Illusions Entertainment.
His first novel, a dark coming-of-age tale about teenagers called _Don't Stand So Close,_ is published by SST Publications.
Eric's recent horror and suspense short stories include "The Buzzard" in _Weird Tales_ magazine, "Little Nasties" in _Shroud_ magazine, "In the Mix" in the _Dark Delicacies III: Haunted_ anthology, "Past Due" in Mulholland Books' _Popcorn Fiction,_ "Curfew" in the _Peep Show Volume 2_ anthology, "Colorblind" in _Cemetery Dance_ magazine and "Do Not Disturb" in _Dark Discoveries Magazine_ .
He created and wrote the sci-fi/horror comic series and graphic novel _Containment_ for IDW Publishing and the horror western comic series _Wild Work_ for Antarctic Press.
Visit his website at www.ericred.com _,_ his blog at __ joblo.com/arrow/blog or www.twitter.com/ericred
_ A killer far worse than insane._
Redheads
_© 2013 Jonathan Moore_
Chris Wilcox has been searching for years, so he knows a few things about his wife's killer. Cheryl Wilcox wasn't the first. All the victims were redheads. All eaten alive and left within a mile of the ocean. The trail of death crosses the globe and spans decades.
The cold trail catches fire when Chris and two other survivors find a trace of the killer's DNA. By hiring a cutting-edge lab to sequence it, they make a terrifying discovery. The killer is far more dangerous than they ever guessed. And now they're being hunted by their own prey.
_Enjoy the following excerpt for_ Redheads:
The dead girl's apartment was easy to spot. It was the only one on the third floor with dark windows. All the others blazed with light, and no wonder: the newspaper didn't have all the details, but had printed the worst. Chris followed the boardwalk around the side of the converted cotton warehouse. Her four windows faced the ship channel between Galveston and Pelican Islands. That was probably a factor. These things always happened close to the ocean.
Chris had flown to Houston from Honolulu that morning to break into this girl's apartment. It was another marker on a trail that began with Cheryl and twisted through thirty-six other homes and apartments and rented rooms, and disappeared into the darkness ahead. He had spent the entire flight hoping something in the apartment would light the way.
He said the girl's name aloud, just to give her another breath of life.
Allison Clayborn.
She'd lived in Galveston just two years, doing research for a green energy company called Gulf Solar. Three days a week, she taught an engineering class at Rice University. She'd grown up somewhere in central Texas.
Chris could picture her as a teenager in the scrubby Texas hills, riding in the back of a pickup truck with her red hair blowing back, the sun lighting the freckles splashed on her otherwise white shoulders.
He could picture her in a white lab coat, looking at a spreadsheet on her laptop and chewing on the end of a pencil.
He could also picture her dead.
She would have had lovely breasts, and they would have been cut off or cut up, and possibly cooked if she had a cast iron skillet in her kitchen. He hadn't seen the coroner's report yet, but he knew her liver would be gone. If she'd fought—if she'd scratched and clawed—her fingertips would be missing from the first knuckle. Her breasts and liver would have been taken to feed some kind of sick hunger, but the fingertips, he thought, were taken for a different purpose: to keep the police from finding the killer's DNA under Allison's nails. But Chris knew other places to look for that.
Her condo faced Harbor Street, where a few giant live oak trees cast wide shadows from sidewalk to sidewalk. The entrance was an ornate cast iron gate framed by gas lamps. Behind the gate, stone steps led through an archway to paired oak doors. He walked to the gate, taking out his bump key. The lock was a Yale pin tumbler no different than the latch on the front doors of most suburban houses. It wouldn't be a problem.
Chris fit his mechanical bump key into the lock, pulled the spring-loaded trigger three times to knock the vertical tumbler pins clear of the lock cylinder, and twisted the plug with a small torsion wrench. The lock opened in less than five seconds. It took his breath away to think how unguarded Allison's life had been. Or Cheryl's, or the lives of the thirty-six others he'd found.
He passed through the front gate and up the steps. Standing in the gas lit entryway, he opened the oak door and went into the elevator lobby. The lift was a brass cage that rose through the center of a stair case. The stairs were dark wood with heavy railings, padded down the center in a long stripe of red carpet. He climbed to the third floor and found the door marked 304. There were no sounds. At the end of the hallway a polished wooden chair sat before the window sill. No policeman sat guard in the chair. He saw no security cameras. An official seal was taped along the length of the doorjamb, and an orange sign was fastened in the center of the door with the Galveston Police Department emblem and DO NOT ENTER BY ORDER OF LAW in large red print.
The last forensic team had sliced the seal in half with a razor, and hadn't replaced it. The police were done with the apartment. But the cut seal was still there, so the cleaners hadn't come. He thought about that for a moment. The timing was critical because the cleaners would destroy what he was looking for. He was already wearing latex gloves, so he simply bumped Allison's lock, stepped quickly inside her home, and shut the door behind him.
The Guns of Santa Sangre
__
__
__
_Eric Red_
__
__
__
__
_Six-guns vs. werewolves in the Old West!_
They're hired guns. The best at what they do. They've left bodies in their wake across the West. But this job is different. It'll take all their skill and courage. And very special bullets. Because their targets this time won't be shooting back. They'll fight back with ripping claws, tearing fangs and animal cunning. They're werewolves. A pack of bloodthirsty wolfmen has taken over a small Mexican village, and the gunmen are the villagers' last hope. The light of the full moon will reveal the deadliest showdown the West has ever seen—three men with six-shooters facing off against snarling, inhuman monsters.
**eBooks are _not_ transferable.**
**They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.**
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
The Guns of Santa Sangre
Copyright © 2013 by Smash Cut Productions, Ltd.
ISBN: 978-1-61921-620-4
Edited by Don D'Auria
Cover by John Gallagher and Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2013
www.samhainpublishing.com
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Q: How to run odp.net application in both .net 3.5 and .net 4 I am working on an internal tool for our product. Our product uses oracle database and have evolved over time from .net framework 2.0 to 4.5 and Oracle 10 to 12.2.
The aim of the tool is to write a single application which works across different versions of the product.
I have solved the problem of multiple .net framework versions by using the following entries in app.config
<supportedRuntime version="v2.0.50727"/>
<supportedRuntime version="v4.0"/>
As the oracle managed .net driver is supported for framework >=4.0, I can not use this as I have to support .net framework 3.5 also.
As I have to use unmanaged odp.net driver, I was thinking about the following scenario
*
*My tool would use the lowest version of oracle.dataaccess.dll and target .net 3.5.
*Following #1 above makes me refer to 2.xx.... version of the oracle.dataaccess.dll.
When I run this application on a machine with only .net framework 4 installed, what would be the behavior? Would it load 4.xx... version of oracle.dataaccess dll when running under the context of .net framework 4?
The best solution for this would have been availability of oracle managed driver for .net 3.5 version but I found that it is not available.
Please provide your valuable inputs.
Satish
UPDATE :
I have written a sample application targeting .net framework 3.5. In this sample app, I will build a connection string and just open a connection and close it.
This application runs successfully when there are no <supportedRuntime> tags in the app.config.
When we add any <supportedRuntime> tags in the app.config, I am getting a type initializer exception for oracle related types. I have tried this with the supported run time tags
<supportedRuntime version="v2.0.50727"/>
<supportedRuntime version="v4.0"/>
individually and both combined. But I am still getting the issue. Can anyone suggest how to resolve this issue?
A: ODP.NET unmanaged driver exist in following versions:
*
*1.x (.NET Framework 1.0.3705/1.1.4322), available up to Oracle Client 11.1.
*2.0 (.NET Framework 2.0.50727), introduced with Oracle Client 10.2
*4.0 (.NET Framework 4.0.30319), introduced with Oracle Client 11.2
If your compile target is .NET version 3 or 3.5 then the application will try to load ODP.NET version 2.0 (and will raise an exception if it is not found on the machine). Actually I am not sure if it would also accept ODP.NET version 4.0.
If your compile target is .NET version 4 or higher then the application will try to load ODP.NET version 4.0 (and will raise an exception if it is not found on the machine).
You can do several solutions:
*
*Provide a copy of Oracle.DataAccess.dll which matches your version and put it in your application directory.
*Use late binding, i.e. instead of
var con = new Oracle.DataAccess.Client.OracleConnection();
use
var DLL = Assembly.Load(String.Format("Oracle.DataAccess, Version={0}.{1}.*.*, Culture=neutral, PublicKeyToken=89b483f429c47342", frameworkVersion, oracleVersion));
var type = DLL.GetType("Oracle.DataAccess.Client.OracleConnection", true, false);
dynamic con = Activator.CreateInstance(type)
However, this syntax is only available from .NET Framework version 4.0 on, I do not know how to write this in version 3.0/3.5.
Note, use con.GetType().Assembly.FullName and con.GetType().Assembly.Location in order to see which DLL was really loaded.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
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Q: How to sort and group an list of dictionaries in right way in Python I have an list of dict in Python as follows:
options = [
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Air conditioning'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Air suspension'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Cruise control'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Leather interior'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Parking assist system camera'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Parking assist system sensors rear'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Power steering'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Seat heating'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Sunroof'},
{'group_priority': 3, 'group': u'Entertainment', 'name': u'Bluetooth'},
{'group_priority': 3, 'group': u'Entertainment', 'name': u'MP3'},
{'group_priority': 3, 'group': u'Entertainment', 'name': u'Navigation system'},
{'group_priority': 4, 'group': u'Extra', 'name': u'Alloy wheels'},
{'group_priority': 4, 'group': u'Extra', 'name': u'Trailer hitch'},
{'group_priority': 4, 'group': u'Extra', 'name': u'Winter tyres'},
{'group_priority': 4, 'group': u'Security', 'name': u'Xenon headlights'}]
I want to order it by group_priority and group it by group and show it in Django template/
What I have tried:
options_grouped_dict = {}
for item in options_grouped:
options_grouped_dict.setdefault(item['group'], []).append(item['name'])
And then in Django template:
{% for key, values in car.options_grouped.items %}
<div>
<div><strong>{{key}}</strong></div>
{% for option in values %}
<div>
{% if option|length > 31 %}
{{ option|truncatechars:34 }}
{% else %}
{{ option }}
{% endif %}
</div>
{% endfor %}
</div>
{% endfor %}
But it isn't ordered by group_priority. I get group security on first place instead of group Comfort
Any advice?
A: I solve it using Django's regroup.
The options list is as follows:
options = [
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Air conditioning'},
{'group_priority': 2, 'group': u'Comfort', 'name': u'Air suspension'},
{'group_priority': 3, 'group': u'Entertainment', 'name': u'Bluetooth'},
{'group_priority': 3, 'group': u'Entertainment', 'name': u'MP3'},
{'group_priority': 3, 'group': u'Entertainment', 'name': u'Navigation system'},
{'group_priority': 4, 'group': u'Extra', 'name': u'Alloy wheels'},
{'group_priority': 4, 'group': u'Extra', 'name': u'Trailer hitch'},
{'group_priority': 4, 'group': u'Security', 'name': u'Xenon headlights'}]
And I have passed it (options) to the template as follows car['options_grouped'] = options
And then in the template I did as follows:
{% regroup car.options_grouped by group as groups %}
{% for group in groups %}
<div>{{ group.grouper }}</div>
{% for option in group.list %}
<div> {{ option.name }}</div>
{% endfor %}
{% endfor %}
A: If you want an orderedDict with dicts grouped by group and ordered by group_prioritythis should work:
#grouping in Dict with group as key and list of dict as value:
grouped_dict={}
for option in options:
if option['group'] in grouped_dict.keys():
grouped_dict[option['group']].append(option)
else:
grouped_dict[option['group']] = [option]
#sorting by group_priority
ordered = OrderedDict(sorted(grouped_dict.items(), key=lambda t:t[1][0].get('group_priority')))
print(ordered)
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 567 |
using System;
using MusicPlayer.Models;
using SimpleTables;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.Linq;
using MusicPlayer.Api;
using MusicPlayer.Cells;
using MusicPlayer.Managers;
using Localizations;
namespace MusicPlayer
{
public class SearchListViewModel : TableViewModel<MediaItemBase>
{
public ServiceType ServiceType { get; set; }
public string Title { get; set; }
SearchResults results;
public bool IsSearching { get; set; }
public SearchResults Results
{
get { return results; }
set
{
results = value;
IsSearching = results == null;
ReloadData();
}
}
public SearchListViewModel()
{
}
#region implemented abstract members of TableViewModel
public override int RowsInSection(int index)
{
var section = GetSection(index);
return GetRowsInSection(section);
}
public override int NumberOfSections()
{
if (Results == null)
return 1;
var sections = GetSections().Length;
return sections;
}
public override string HeaderForSection(int section)
{
switch (GetSection(section))
{
case "Searching":
return Strings.Searching;
case "Artist":
return Strings.Artists;
case "Albums":
return Strings.Albums;
case "Songs":
return Strings.Songs;
case "Radio Stations":
return Strings.RadioStations;
case "Playlists":
return Strings.Playlists;
case "Videos":
return Strings.Videos;
}
return "";
}
public int GetRowsInSection(string section)
{
switch (section)
{
case "Searching":
return 1;
case "Artist":
return Results?.Artist.Count ?? 0;
case "Albums":
return Results?.Albums.Count ?? 0;
case "Songs":
return Results?.Songs.Count ?? 0;
case "Radio Stations":
return Results?.RadioStations.Count ?? 0;
case "Playlists":
return Results?.Playlists.Count ?? 0;
case "Videos":
return Results?.Videos.Count ?? 0;
}
Console.WriteLine($"Unknown Section in search: {section}");
return 0;
}
public override string[] SectionIndexTitles()
{
return GetSections().Select(x=> "\u25CF").ToArray();
}
public string GetSection(int index)
{
var sections = GetSections();
return index >= sections.Length ? "" : sections[index];
}
public string[] GetSections()
{
if (IsSearching)
{
return new [] {"Searching"};
}
if (Results == null)
return new string[] {""};
var sections = new List<string>();
if(Results.Artist.Count > 0)
sections.Add("Artist");
if(Results.Albums.Count > 0)
sections.Add("Albums");
if(Results.Songs.Count > 0)
sections.Add("Songs");
if(Results.RadioStations.Count > 0)
sections.Add("Radio Stations");
if(Results.Playlists.Count > 0)
sections.Add("Playlists");
if(Results.Videos.Count > 0)
sections.Add("Videos");
return sections.ToArray();
}
public override ICell GetICell(int section, int row)
{
if(IsSearching)
return new SpinnerCell();
return base.GetICell (section, row);
}
public override MediaItemBase ItemFor(int section, int row)
{
try
{
var sectionName = GetSection(section);
switch (sectionName)
{
case "Searching":
return null;
case "Artist":
return Results?.Artist[row];
case "Albums":
return Results?.Albums[row];
case "Songs":
return Results?.Songs[row];
case "Radio Stations":
return Results?.RadioStations[row];
case "Playlists":
return Results?.Playlists[row];
case "Videos":
return Results?.Videos[row];
}
}
catch(Exception ex)
{
LogManager.Shared.Report(ex);
}
Console.WriteLine($"Unknown Section in search: {section}");
return null;
}
#endregion
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
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I Consigli dei Cittadini Bianchi (in inglese: White Citizens' Councils, WCC) sono stati una rete di organizzazioni di potere bianco degli Stati Uniti d'America, concentrati negli Stati Uniti meridionali.
Il primo consiglio fu formato l'11 luglio 1954. Con circa sessantamila membri, i gruppi furono fondati con lo scopo principale di opporsi all'integrazione razziale nelle scuole, alle iscrizioni degli elettori nelle liste elettorali e all'integrazioni delle strutture pubbliche durante gli anni cinquanta e sessanta. I membri usavano dure tattiche di intimidazione, compresi boicottaggi economici, licenziamenti dal posto di lavoro, propaganda e violenza contro cittadini e attivisti per i diritti civili.
Storia
Nascita e sviluppo
Nel 1954 la Corte Suprema degli Stati Uniti decretò in Brown contro Board of Education che la segregazione delle scuole pubbliche era incostituzionale. Alcune fonti sostengono che il Consiglio dei Cittadini Bianchi iniziò per la prima volta dopo questo a Greenwood, nel Mississippi. Altri dicono che ha avuto origine a Indianola, nel Mississippi. Il leader riconosciuto era Robert B. Patterson di Indianola, un manager di piantagioni e un ex capitano della squadra di football della Mississippi State University. Ulteriori capitoli si diffondono in altre città del sud. In questo momento, la maggior parte degli stati del sud ha forzato la segregazione razziale di tutte le strutture pubbliche; in luoghi in cui le leggi locali non richiedevano la segregazione, le molestie di Jim Crow l'imponevano. Dopo gli sforzi preliminari di ricostruzione post-guerra civile condotti da neri e bianchi più poveri, il periodo successivo dal 1890 al 1908 portò alla privazione della maggioranza dei neri attraverso il passaggio di nuove costituzioni e altre leggi che rendevano più difficile la registrazione degli elettori e le elezioni, e portò alla fondazione del Ku Klux Klan. Nonostante le organizzazioni per i diritti civili abbiano vinto alcune sfide legali, la maggior parte dei neri negli anni '50 era ancora vendetta per aver votato, oltre che per guidare gli autobus e sedersi ai banchi del pranzo, nel Sud e lo è rimasto anche dopo il passaggio della votazione Rights Act del 1965.
Patterson ed i suoi seguaci hanno formato il White Citizens Council in parte per rispondere con ritorsioni economiche e violenze a un maggiore attivismo per i diritti civili. Il Consiglio Regionale della Negro Leadership (RCNL), un'organizzazione di diritti civili di base fondata nel 1951 da T. R. M. Howard della città completamente nera Mound Bayou, nel Mississippi, era anche a 40 miglia da Indianola. Aaron Henry, un ufficiale successivo nella RCNL e il futuro capo della NAACP del Mississippi aveva incontrato Patterson durante la loro infanzia.
Nel giro di pochi mesi, il White Citizens Council aveva attratto membri razzisti simili; nuovi capitoli sviluppati oltre il Mississippi nel resto del profondo sud. Il Consiglio spesso aveva il sostegno dei principali cittadini bianchi di molte comunità, tra cui imprenditori, forze dell'ordine, leader civici e talvolta religiosi, molti dei quali erano membri. Le aziende associate, come la pubblicazione di giornali, la rappresentanza legale, il servizio medico, erano conosciute per aver agito collettivamente contro elettori registrati i cui nomi erano stati pubblicati per la prima volta su giornali locali prima che fossero intraprese ulteriori azioni di ritorsione contro di loro.
Ritorsioni e violenze economiche
A differenza del Ku Klux Klan, ma lavorando all'unisono, il White Citizens Council si è riunito apertamente, ed è stato visto superficialmente come "perseguendo l'agenda del Klan con il contegno del Rotary Club." Anche se il White Citizens Council ha eluso pubblicamente l'uso di violenza, le tattiche economiche e politiche usate contro gli elettori registrati e gli attivisti hanno abbracciato la violenza istituzionale. I membri del Consiglio dei cittadini bianchi hanno collaborato per minacciare posti di lavoro, provocando licenziamenti o sfrattati dalle case in affitto; hanno boicottato le imprese, assicurato che gli attivisti non potessero ottenere prestiti, tra le altre tattiche. Come nota lo storico Charles Payne, "Nonostante le dichiarazioni ufficiali, la violenza è stata seguita spesso a seguito delle campagne di intimidazione del Consiglio." Occasionalmente alcuni Consigli hanno incitato direttamente alla violenza, come linciaggi, sparatorie, stupri e incendi dolosi, come ha fatto Leander Perez durante il Crisi di segregazione scolastica a New Orleans. In alcuni casi, i membri del Consiglio sono stati coinvolti direttamente in atti di violenza, come Nat King Cole che veniva aggredita a Birmingham o Byron De La Beckwith che uccideva Medgar Evers.
Ad esempio, a Montgomery, in Alabama, durante il boicottaggio degli autobus di Montgomery, in cui il senatore James Eastland "si è scatenato contro la NAACP" durante una grande riunione del Consiglio nel Coliseum Garrett, un volantino ciclostilato pubblicamente sposando l'estremo razzista del Consiglio dei cittadini bianchi e la retorica di Ku Klux Klan è stata distribuita, parodiando la Dichiarazione di Indipendenza e dicendo:
Quando nel corso degli eventi umani, diventa necessario abolire la razza negra, dovrebbero essere usati metodi appropriati. Tra questi ci sono pistole, archi e frecce, colpi di fionda e coltelli.
Riteniamo che queste verità siano evidenti che tutti i bianchi sono creati uguali a certi diritti; tra questi ci sono la vita, la libertà e il perseguimento dei negri morti.
I consigli dei cittadini usavano tattiche economiche contro gli afroamericani che consideravano come favorevoli alla desegregazione e ai diritti di voto, o per appartenere alla NAACP, o addirittura sospettati di essere attivisti; le tattiche includevano "chiamare" i mutui dei cittadini neri, negare prestiti e credito d'impresa, spingere i datori di lavoro a licenziare certe persone e boicottare le imprese di proprietà nera. In alcune città, i Consigli hanno pubblicato elenchi di nomi di sostenitori e firmatari NAACP di petizioni anti-segregazione sui giornali locali al fine di incoraggiare le rappresaglie economiche .
Ad esempio, nella città di Yazoo, nel Mississippi, nel 1955, il Consiglio dei cittadini ha pubblicato sul giornale locale i nomi di 53 firmatari di una petizione per l'integrazione scolastica. Poco dopo, i firmatari hanno perso il lavoro e il loro credito è stato interrotto. Come afferma Charles Payne, i Consigli operavano "scatenando un'ondata di rappresaglie economiche contro chiunque, nero o bianco, vista come una minaccia per lo status quo". I loro obiettivi includevano professionisti neri come insegnanti e agricoltori , studenti delle scuole superiori e del college, proprietari di negozi e casalinghe .
Il primo lavoro di Medgar Evers per il NAACP a livello nazionale prevedeva interviste a Mississippi che erano stati intimiditi dai White Citizens 'Councils e preparavano affidavit da usare come prova contro i Council, se necessario. Evers fu assassinato nel 1963 da Byron De La Beckwith, membro del White Citizens 'Council e del Ku Klux Klan. Il Consiglio dei cittadini pagò le sue spese legali nei suoi due processi nel 1964, che portarono entrambi a giurie sospese. Nel 1994, Beckwith fu processato dallo stato del Mississippi sulla base di nuove prove, in parte rivelate da una lunga indagine del Jackson Clarion Ledger; fu condannato per omicidio di primo grado e condannato all'ergastolo.
Influenza politica
Joe D. Waggonner, Jr.
Molti importanti politici statali e locali erano membri dei Consigli; in alcuni stati, questo ha dato all'organizzazione un'immensa influenza sulle legislature statali. In Mississippi, la Commissione per la sovranità dello stato ha finanziato i Consigli dei cittadini, in alcuni anni fornendo fino a . Questa agenzia statale, finanziata dalle tasse pagate da tutti i cittadini, condivideva anche le informazioni con i Consigli che aveva raccolto attraverso indagini e sorveglianza di attivisti per l'integrazione . Ad esempio, il Dr. M. Ney Williams era sia un direttore del Consiglio dei cittadini che un consigliere del governatore Ross Barnett del Mississippi. Barnett era un membro del Consiglio, così come il sindaco di Jackson Allen C. Thompson. Nel 1955, nel mezzo del boicottaggio degli autobus, tutti e tre i membri della commissione cittadina di Montgomery in Alabama annunciarono in televisione che erano entrati a far parte del Consiglio dei cittadini.
Numan Bartley ha scritto: "In Louisiana, l'organizzazione del Consiglio dei cittadini ha iniziato come (e in gran parte rimaneva) una proiezione del Comitato legislativo congiunto per mantenere la segregazione". In Louisiana, i leader del Consiglio dei Cittadini originario includevano il Senatore dello Stato e il candidato governatore William M. Rainach, il rappresentante degli Stati Uniti Joe D. Waggonner, Jr., l'editore Ned Touchstone, e il giudice Leander Perez, considerato il capo politico di Plaquemines e parrocchie di San Bernardo vicino a New Orleans. Dopo aver lasciato la redazione dello Shreveport Journal nel 1971, George W. Shannon si trasferì a Jackson, nel Mississippi, per lavorare a The Citizen, una rivista mensile del Consiglio dei cittadini. Il cittadino fermò la pubblicazione nel gennaio 1979, quando Shannon era tornata a Shreveport.
Il 16 luglio 1956, "sotto la pressione dei White Citizens Councils" , la Legislatura dello Stato della Louisiana approvò una legge che impone la segregazione razziale in quasi ogni aspetto della vita pubblica; gran parte della segregazione esisteva già con l'abitudine di Jim Crow. Il disegno di legge fu firmato in legge dal governatore Earl Long il 16 luglio 1956 ed entrò in vigore il 15 ottobre 1956. L'atto recitava, in parte:
Una legge che proibisce tutte le danze interrazziali, le funzioni sociali, i divertimenti, la preparazione atletica, i giochi, gli sport, i concorsi e altre attività simili; fornire posti a sedere separati e altre strutture per bianchi e negri [in minuscolo nell'originale] ... A tutte le persone, aziende e società è proibito sponsorizzare, organizzare, partecipare o autorizzare in locali sotto il loro controllo ... tali attività Coinvolgimento di contatti personali e sociali in cui i partecipanti sono membri delle razze bianche e negre ... Alle persone bianche è vietato sedersi o utilizzare qualsiasi parte dei sedili e strutture sanitarie o di altro tipo riservate ai membri della razza negra. Alle persone negre è vietato sedersi o utilizzare qualsiasi parte dei posti a sedere e strutture sanitarie o di altro tipo riservate ai bianchi.
Un'altra disposizione che riuscirono a superare fu una legge di contestazione pubblica che consentiva a due elettori di sfidare un altro elettore per vedere se fosse stato registrato legittimamente, disposizione per eliminare gli elettori neri, in una parrocchia, Bienville, il 95% degli elettori neri fu epurato . Allo stesso modo, sono stati coinvolti nel consegnare ai registri opuscoli come le leggi sulle qualifiche degli elettori in Louisiana: la chiave della vittoria nella lotta per la segregazione e farli partecipare ai seminari obbligatori sulla prevenzione della registrazione nera e dell'eliminazione degli elettori neri.
La desegregazione scolastica e la fine dei consigli
Per tutta la seconda metà degli anni '50, i White Citizens 'Councils hanno prodotto libri per bambini razzisti che hanno insegnato che il paradiso (nella concezione cristiana) è segregato. Il White Citizens 'Council in Mississippi ha impedito l'integrazione scolastica fino al 1964. Poiché la desegregazione scolastica aumentava in alcune parti del Sud, in alcune comunità il White Citizens 'Council sponsorizzava "scuole di consiglio", istituzioni private istituite per bambini bianchi, poiché questi erano fuori dalla portata della sentenza sulle scuole pubbliche . Molte di queste "accademie di segregazione" private continuano ad operare oggi.
Negli anni '70, quando gli atteggiamenti dei sudisti bianchi verso la desegregazione iniziarono a cambiare dopo il passaggio della legislazione federale sui diritti civili e l'applicazione dell'integrazione e dei diritti di voto negli anni '60, le attività dei White Citizens 'Councils cominciarono a calare. Il Consiglio dei Cittadini Conservatori, fondato da ex membri del Consiglio dei Cittadini Bianchi, ha continuato gli ordini del giorno dei precedenti Consigli.
Voci correlate
Cronologia della segregazione razziale negli Stati Uniti d'America
Ku Klux Klan
Nazionalismo bianco
Razzismo
Razzismo negli Stati Uniti d'America | {
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{"url":"https:\/\/stats.stackexchange.com\/questions\/332151\/question-regarding-derivation-of-variance-for-ar1-when-rho-is-less-than-1","text":"# Question regarding derivation of variance for AR(1) when rho is less than 1\n\nIn class my professor derived the variance for the AR(1) model in the case of $|\\rho| < 1$. I am having some issues with derivation.\n\n$$Var[X_k] = E[X_k^2] - E[X_k]^2 = E[X_k^2] - 0 = E[X_k^2]$$\n\n$$E[X_k^2] = E[(\\sum_{i=0}^\\infty \\rho^i \\epsilon_{k-i})^2]$$\n\n$$= E[(\\sum_{i=0}^\\infty(\\rho^i \\epsilon_{k-i})^2 + 2\\sum_{i<j}(\\rho^i\\epsilon_{k-i})(\\rho^j \\epsilon_{k-j})]$$\n\n1. I don't understand how my professor goes from the second line to the third line. Why can't we just write:\n\n$$E[(\\sum_{i=0}^\\infty \\rho^i \\epsilon_{k-i})^2] = E[\\sum_{i=0}^\\infty \\rho^{2i} \\epsilon_{k-i}^2]$$\n\n2. I also have absolutely no idea what is meant by $i < j$ in the second summation. Does it have something to do with the covariance matrix? Ie because when $i=j$ it's the same as the variance? I am basically totally lost on this step and why it is necessary.\n\nThe derivation then continues:\n\n$$E[(\\sum_{i=0}^\\infty(\\rho^i \\epsilon_{k-i})^2 + 2\\sum_{i<j}(\\rho^i\\epsilon_{k-i})(\\rho^j \\epsilon_{k-j})]$$\n\n$$= \\sum_{i=0}^\\infty \\rho^{2i} \\sigma^2 + 2\\sum_{i<j} \\rho^{i+j} E[\\epsilon_{k-i} \\epsilon_{k-j}]$$\n\n1. I am confused by how we are able to pull $\\rho$ out of the summation. I realize that it must be because $\\rho$ is a constant, but I am confused by this because it depends on $i$ and $j$, so how can we treat it as we otherwise would a constant in this scenario?\n\nI am comfortable with the rest of the derivation and the other steps I did not mention. Any help would be GREATLY appreciated. Thank you so much!\n\n\u2022 i<j simply means for a given value of j take the sum of the terms from i=0 to i=j-1. \u2013\u00a0Michael R. Chernick Mar 7 '18 at 8:30\n\u2022 For going from line 2 to line 3 you simply expand the terms in the square of a sum. As for the last part the expectation of the sum is the sum of the expectations (linearity property of expectations).. ($\\rho^2$)$^i$ equals $\\rho^2$$^i$ and for each index i E[($\\epsilon_i$)$^2$] = $\\sigma^2$. \u2013\u00a0Michael R. Chernick Mar 7 '18 at 8:45\n\u2022 So is the idea that the expectation of $\\rho^{2i}$ is a constant, since $\\rho$ is a constant? I guess that's where my confusion lies. \u2013\u00a0agra94 Mar 7 '18 at 21:24\n\u2022 $\\rho$ is a parameter not a constant. For the purpose of deriving the result you can think of it as fixed but unknown. \u2013\u00a0Michael R. Chernick Mar 7 '18 at 21:40\n\u2022 Okay, so that is why we are able to essentially pull it out? It is fixed, the expectation of any \"fixed\" number will just be the number itself? like $E[\\mu] = \\mu$ because $\\mu$, if we are referring to the normal distribution, is a parameter but it is fixed. Maybe that's a silly example but hopefully it gets my question across. \u2013\u00a0agra94 Mar 7 '18 at 21:51","date":"2020-01-28 04:43:05","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.7636696696281433, \"perplexity\": 142.96546802253016}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2020-05\/segments\/1579251773463.72\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20200128030221-20200128060221-00335.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Q: :first-child not selecting first paragraph I have two paragraphs wrapped in a div. I want to make the first paragraphs text a little larger but using the :first-child does not work the way I am calling it. Cant see what is wrong.
<div id="main-content">
<h2 class="title">
About Us
</h2>
<p>Formerly Days Hotel Waterford, Treacys Hotel Spa & Leisure Centre is situated in the heart of Waterford City in Ireland's Sunny South-East, and is proud to be one of the finest hotels in Waterford. The hotel is the perfect choice for your business, leisure and family breaks. Guests can dine in Croker's Restaurant, enjoy a drink with friends in Timbertoes bar, relax in the swimming pool or Jacuzzi at Spirit Leisure Centre or be pampered at Spirit Beauty Spa.
</p>
<p>
The hotel is ideally located on the Quays in Waterford and is just a five minute walk from both the bus and train stations, and only 10km from Waterford Airport. Treacys hotel is one of the finest hotels in Waterford city centre and is a popular location for visitors who love shopping, golf, surfing, or choose from our selection of great value packages, including pampering spa breaks and activity breaks.
</p>
</div><!-- inner content End -->
CSS:
#main-content p:first-child {
font-size:16px;
}
A: The first child of #main-content is not a p, it's an h2.
If you want to apply the rule to the first p, use CSS3 :first-of-type:
#main-content p:first-of-type {
font-size:16px;
}
Or h2:first-child with a sibling selector, which plays more nicely with IE:
#main-content h2:first-child + p {
font-size:16px;
}
A: If you only have one h1 with class title in your div then you can avoid using high level CSS selector to support more browsers with using this code:
h2.title + p {
font-size:16px;
}
A: It's not the first child, the h2 element is.
You could use #main-content h2 + p. It has pretty good browser support. There are better fits (see BoltClock's answer), but sadly IE is holding back using them.
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<td width="65%">
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<td><div class="SearchFields">寄件者:</div></td>
<td width="25%">
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<td><div class="SearchFields">信件</div></td>
<td width="25%"><input type="text" id="SearchMessage" onfocus="FieldInFocus = true; document.body.setAttribute('style','-moz-user-select: normal;');" onblur="FieldInFocus = false; document.body.setAttribute('style','-moz-user-select: none;');"></td>
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</td>
</tr>
<tr id="MsgSearchRowMore" style="display: none;">
<td class="SearchRowMore" colspan="5">
之前收到:
<select id="SearchBeforeDay" class="swheader">
<option value="01">01</option>
<option value="02">02</option>
<option value="03">03</option>
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</select>
/
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<option value="01">一月</option>
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<option value="11">十一月</option>
<option value="12" selected>十二月</option>
</select>
/
<select id="SearchBeforeYear" class="swheader">
$var['beforeYearOptions']
</select>
之後收到:
<select id="SearchAfterDay" class="swheader"><option value="01">01</option><option value="02">02</option><option value="03">03</option><option value="04">04</option><option value="05">05</option><option value="06">06</option><option value="07">07</option><option value="08">08</option><option value="09">09</option><option value="10">10</option><option value="11">11</option><option value="12">12</option><option value="13">13</option><option value="14">14</option><option value="15">15</option><option value="16">16</option><option value="17">17</option><option value="18">18</option><option value="19">19</option><option value="20">20</option><option value="21">21</option><option value="22">22</option><option value="23">23</option><option value="24">24</option><option value="25">25</option><option value="26">26</option><option value="27">27</option><option value="28">28</option><option value="29">29</option><option value="30">30</option><option value="31">31</option></select>
/
<select id="SearchAfterMonth" class="swheader"><option value="01">一月</option><option value="02">二月</option><option value="03">三月</option><option value="04">四月</option><option value="05">五月</option><option value="06">六月</option><option value="07">七月</option><option value="08">八月</option><option value="09">九月</option><option value="10">十月</option><option value="11">十一月</option><option value="12">十二月</option></select>
/
<select id="SearchAfterYear" class="swheader">$var['afterYearOptions']</select>
<br />
<input type="checkbox" id="SearchAttachments" value="1"> 郵件附件
<input type="checkbox" id="SearchFlagged" value="1"> 訊息標幟
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<td class="headertile2" onclick="SortMsgsBy(5);">
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Nipsey Hussle shares gut-wrenching life story in his final video, 'Higher'
By A.R. Shaw | May 17, 2019 | 0
Photo: A.R. Shaw for Steed Media
Nipsey Hussle almost never made it here. In his last music video before his untimely death, the South Los Angeles-based rapper shared gut-wrenching stories of his life in a video and song that serves as a final message and dedication to his family.
Executive produced by DJ Khaled and featuring soulful vocals from John Legend, "Higher" was filmed three days before Nipsey Hussle was shot and killed in front of his Marathon store in the Crenshaw community of Los Angeles on March 31, 2019.
On "Higher," Nipsey reveals how his grandmother endured difficulties before becoming pregnant with his mother. "My granny 88/she had my uncle and then a miscarriage back-to-back every year/feel like 10/Pregnant with my moms, doctor told her it was slim/She bed-ridden for nine months, but gave birth in the end."
Nipsey goes on the share how his father moved from East Africa to America for a better life and met his mother at a social gathering in Los Angeles.
"Pops turned 60, he'd be proud what we done/In one generation, he came from Africa young/He said he met my moms at the Century Club/Los Angeles, love kinda like Hussle and Boog (a nod to himself and girlfriend Lauren London)," he raps.
Nipsey also goes into the struggles he faced as a teen while enduring gang violence. After being involved in shootouts and facing police harassment, he realized that he was blessed to make it to 30 years old.
"Looking back at my life made my heart race/Danced with the devil and that was all faith/I was thinking chess moves but it was God's grace," Nipsey raps.
The gospel-inspired chorus, sung by John Legend, leaves listeners with hope to keep pushing beyond their difficulties.
"Yeah, you keep taking me higher and higher, Don't you know that the devil is a liar?/Yeah, they rather see me down with my soul on fire/But we keep going higher, higher," Legend sings.
View video below:
Posted in Music and tagged featured, John Legend, Music, nipsey hussle, rap, South Los Angeles | {
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{"url":"http:\/\/golem.ph.utexas.edu\/category\/2013\/05\/bounded_gaps_between_primes.html","text":"## May 14, 2013\n\n### Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\n#### Posted by Tom Leinster\n\nGuest post by Emily Riehl\n\nWhether we grow up to become category theorists or applied mathematicians, one thing that I suspect unites us all is that we were once enchanted by prime numbers. It comes as no surprise then that a seminar given yesterday afternoon at Harvard by Yitang Zhang of the University of New Hampshire reporting on his new paper \u201cBounded gaps between primes\u201d attracted a diverse audience. I don\u2019t believe the paper is publicly available yet, but word on the street is that the referees at the Annals say it all checks out.\n\nWhat follows is a summary of his presentation. Any errors should be ascribed to the ignorance of the transcriber (a category theorist, not an analytic number theorist) rather than to the author or his talk, which was lovely.\n\n### Prime gaps\n\nLet us write $p_1, p_2, \\ldots$ for the primes in increasing cardinal order. We know of course that this list is countably infinite. A prime gap is an integer $p_{n+1}-p_n$. The Prime Number Theorem tells us that $p_{n+1}-p_n$ is approximately $\\log(p_n)$ as $n$ approaches infinity.\n\nThe twin primes conjecture, on the other hand asserts that\n\n$\\liminf_{n \\to \\infty} (p_{n+1}-p_n) =2$\n\ni.e., that there are infinitely many pairs of twin primes for which the prime gap is just two. A generalization, attributed to Alphonse de Polignac, states that for any positive even integer, there are infinitely many prime gaps of that size. This conjecture has been neither proven nor disproven in any case. These conjectures are related to the Hardy-Littlewood conjecture about the distribution of prime constellations.\n\n### The strategy\n\nThe basic question is whether there exists some constant $C$ so that $p_{n+1}-p_n \\lt C$ infinitely often. Now, for the first time, we know that the answer is yes\u2026when $C = 7 \\times 10^7$.\n\nHere is the basic proof strategy, supposedly familiar in analytic number theory. A subset $H = \\{ h_1,\\ldots, h_k \\}$ of distinct natural numbers is admissible if for all primes $p$ the number of distinct residue classes modulo $p$ occupied by these numbers is less than $p$. (For instance, taking $p=2$, we see that the gaps between the $h_j$ must all be even.) If this condition were not satisfied, then it would not be possible for each element in a collection $\\{ n + h_1,\\ldots, n +h_k\\}$ to be prime. Conversely, the Hardy-Littlewood conjecture contains the statement that for every admissible $H$, there are infinitely many $n$ so that every element of the set $\\{ n + h_1,\\ldots, n +h_k\\}$ is prime.\n\nLet $\\theta(n)$ denote the function that is $\\log(n)$ when $n$ is prime and 0 otherwise. Fixing a large integer $x$, let us write $n \\sim x$ to mean $x$$n \\lt 2x$. Suppose we have a positive real valued function $f$\u2014to be specified later\u2014and consider two sums:\n\n$S_1 = \\sum_{n \\sim x} f(n)$\n\n$S_2 = \\sum_{n \\sim x} \\biggl( \\sum_{j=1}^k \\theta(n+h_j)\\biggr) f(n)$\n\nThen if $S_2 \\gt (\\log 3x) S_1$ for some function $f$ it follows that $\\sum_{j=1}^k \\theta(n+h_j) \\gt \\log 3x$ for some $n \\sim x$ (for any $x$ sufficiently large) which means that at least two terms in this sum are non-zero, i.e., that there are two indices $i$ and $j$ so that $n+h_i$ and $n+h_j$ are both prime. In this way we can identify bounded prime gaps.\n\n### Some details\n\nThe trick is to find an appropriate function $f$. Previous work of Daniel Goldston, J\u00e1nos Pintz, and Cem Yildirim suggests define $f(n) = \\lambda(n)^2$ where\n\n$\\lambda(n) = \\sum_{d \\mid P(n), d \\lt D} \\mu(d) \\Bigl(\\log \\Bigl(\\frac{D}{d}\\Bigr)\\Bigr)^{k+\\ell} \\quad\\quad P(n) = \\prod_{j=1}^k(n+h_j)$\n\nwhere $\\ell \\gt 0$ and $D$ is a power of $x$.\n\nNow think of the sum $S_2 - (\\log 3x) S_1$ as a main term plus an error term. Taking $D = x^\\vartheta$ with $\\vartheta \\lt \\frac{1}{4}$, the main term is negative, which won\u2019t do. When $\\vartheta = \\frac{1}{4} + \\omega$ the main term is okay but the question remains how to bound the error term.\n\n### Zhang\u2019s work\n\nZhang\u2019s idea is related to work of Enrico Bombieri, John Friedlander, and Henryk Iwaniec. Let $\\vartheta = \\frac{1}{4} + \\omega$ where $\\omega = \\frac{1}{1168}$ (which is \u201csmall but bigger than $\\epsilon$\u201d). Then define $\\lambda(n)$ using the same formula as before but with an additional condition on the index $d$, namely that $d$ divides the product of the primes less that $x^{\\omega}$. In other words, we only sum over square-free $d$ with small prime factors.\n\nThe point is that when $d$ is not too small (say $d \\gt x^{1\/3}$) then $d$ has lots of factors. If $d = p_1\\cdots p_b$ and $R \\lt d$ there is some $a$ so that $r= p_1\\cdots p_a \\lt R$ and $p_1\\cdots p_{a+1} \\gt R$. This gives a factorization $d = r q$ with $R\/ x^\\omega \\lt r \\lt R$ which we can use to break the sum over $d$ into two sums (over $r$ and over $q$) which are then handled using techniques whose names I didn\u2019t recognize.\n\n### On the size of the bound\n\nYou might be wondering where the number 70 million comes from. This is related to the $k$ in the admissible set. (My notes say $k = 3.5 \\times 10^6$ but maybe it should be $k = 3.5 \\times 10^7$.) The point is that $k$ needs to be large enough so that the change brought about by the extra condition that $d$ is square free with small prime factors is negligible. But Zhang believes that his techniques have not yet been optimized and that smaller bounds will soon be possible.\n\nPosted at May 14, 2013 8:44 PM UTC\n\nTrackBack URL for this Entry:\u00a0\u00a0 http:\/\/golem.ph.utexas.edu\/cgi-bin\/MT-3.0\/dxy-tb.fcgi\/2617\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nNice summary!\n\nThe Prime Number Theorem tells us that $p_{n+1}\u2212p_n$ is approximately $\\log(p_n)$ as $n$ approaches infinity.\n\nOf course, it\u2019s better to say $p_{n+1}\u2212p_n$ is $\\log(p_n)$ on average as $n$ approaches infinity.\n\nBy the way, in 2004, Daniel Goldston, J\u00e1nos Pintz and Cem Y\u0131ld\u0131r\u0131m were able to show that there are infinitely many pairs of primes at most 16 apart\u2026 if something called the Elliott\u2013Halberstam conjecture is true.\n\nThis is a really nice expository article about the whole issue:\n\n\u2022 K. Soundararajan, Small gaps between prime numbers: the work of Goldston-Pintz-Y\u0131ld\u0131r\u0131m.\n\nPosted by: John Baez on May 15, 2013 3:38 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nYes, of course! That was sloppy of me. Thanks.\n\nPosted by: Emily Riehl on May 15, 2013 4:09 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThanks so much for this nice summary! It makes me feel like I can almost understand it.\n\nIn other news I see this arxiv paper, claiming that the ternary Goldbach conjecture has been proven: (by H.A. Helfgott, Ecole Normale Superior) Major arcs for Goldbach\u2019s theorem .\n\nIf anyone can summarize those 131 pages that would be awesome!\n\nPosted by: stefan on May 15, 2013 4:24 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nStefan wrote:\n\nIf anyone can summarize those 131 pages that would be awesome!\n\nI can\u2019t do that, but here\u2019s some chat. On Google+, Terence Tao wrote:\n\nBusy day in analytic number theory; Harald Helfgott has complemented his previous paper (obtaining minor arc estimates for the odd Goldbach problem) with major arc estimates, thus finally obtaining an unconditional proof of the odd Goldbach conjecture that every odd number greater than five is the sum of three primes. (This improves upon a result of mine from last year showing that such numbers are the sum of five or fewer primes, though at the cost of a significantly lengthier argument.) As with virtually all successful partial results on the Goldbach problem, the argument proceeds by the Hardy-Littlewood-Vinogradov circle method; the challenge is to make all the estimates completely effective and to optimise all parameters (which, among other things, requires a certain amount of computer-assisted computation).\n\nI wrote:\n\nToday +Harald Helfgott publicized his proof of the odd Goldbach conjecture:\n\nEvery odd number greater than 5 can be expressed as the sum of 3 primes.\n\nI\u2019m optimistic that it\u2019s correct, not because I understand it, but because Helfgott has a good track record and +Terence Tao, an expert on these matters, sounds optimistic.\n\nActually Helfgott\u2019s proof only works for odd numbers greater than 10^30. But the result has already been checked by computer for odd numbers smaller than this!\n\nBefore Helfgott proved it for odd numbers greater than $10^{30}$, the odd Goldbach conjecture was known to be true for numbers greater than $e^{3100}$. This meant it could in principle be checked by a computer\u2026 but not in practice now, because that number was too big.\n\nInterestingly, Helfgott\u2019s proof for odd numbers greater than $10^{30}$ also relies on computer calculations! As part of the work, David J. Platt needed to check hundreds of thousands of facts that would be true if the Generalized Riemann Hypothesis holds. I don\u2019t think I want to explain this, since you can see the basic idea here:\n\nGeneralized Riemann Hypothesis, Wikipedia.\n\nBut, briefly, this hypothesis says that all the zeros of certain functions called Dirichlet L-functions that lie in a certain strip of the complex plane actually lie on a certain line.\n\nIn a conversation last May here on G+, Helfgott said:\n\nVery informally and off the strictest record [\u2026] friends say [\u2026] \u201cthis is now done modulo 2-years-and-\u00a3100000 worth of computer time\u201d. I think this is very roughly right. It is of course possible that the result will be improved or complemented, either by myself or by others, before anybody puts in very serious computer resources to the task.\n\nIt seems that Platt did the calculations sooner and more cleverly than expected!\n\nIn case you\u2019re wondering, the odd Goldbach conjecture has long been considered much easier than the original Goldbach conjecture: every even number greater than 2 can be expressed as the sum of 2 primes. Tao says brand-new insights would be needed to crack this one.\n\nHarald Helfgott replied:\n\nHi John -\n\nActually, what happened is that I improved both my minor arcs results (hence the new version of that paper posted yesterday) and my ideas towards major arc results (included in the new paper, Major Arcs\u2026, also posted yesterday). This meant that the computations that had to be done went further by only a factor of 2 or so than those that Platt had already done for his thesis. (This translates into a factor of 8 or so in computer time.)\n\nI should also say that Platt is, of course (as you say), clever, and a pleasure to work with. Also, our joint efforts to get people to give us more computer time bore fruit thanks to the generosity of several institutions and individuals.\n\nLet me add that my proof really works starting at $10^27$ or so, or, with some modifications, perhaps even a little below that. I\u2019ve assumed $n \\ge 10^30$, which is both more than I need and less than what has been checked, so as to give me a wide berth in case of minor slips.\ufeff\n\nPosted by: John Baez on May 15, 2013 8:28 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThank you, John! This is great stuff, and I\u2019ll check back at the Google+ conversation for any future comments.\n\nPosted by: stefan on May 22, 2013 6:58 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThe Harvard math curriculum leans heavily towards the systematic, theory-building style; analytic number theory as usually practiced falls in the problem-solving camp. This is probably why, despite its illustrious history (Euclid, Euler, Riemann, Selberg, \u2026 ) and present-day vitality, analytic number theory has rarely been taught here. \u2026 Now we shall see that there is more to analytic number theory than a bag of unrelated ad-hoc tricks, but it is true that partisans of contravariant functors, ad\u00e8lic tangent sheaves, and \u00e9tale cohomology will not find them in the present course. Still, even ardent structuralists can benefit from this course\u2026. An ambitious theory-builder should regard the absence thus far of a Grand Unified Theory of analytic number theory not as an insult but as a challenge. Both machinery- and problem-motivated mathematicians should note that some of the more exciting recent work in number theory depends critically on symbiosis between the two styles of mathematics.\n\nIs there any whiff of such symbiosis in this latest work?\n\nPosted by: David Corfield on May 16, 2013 8:27 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nI have a question. maybe it\u2019s fool, but every people are sometimes fool in the front of God.So please don\u2019t laugh at me. if p(n+1) - p(n) < C => 1-p(n)\/p(n+1) < C\/p(n+1). we know that lim(C\/p(n+1)) = 0, but lim(1-p(n)\/p(n+1)) = 1 - lim(p(n)\/p(n+1)) >0, so left > 0 and right =0, this inequation (left < right) is not correct =>p(n+1) - p(n) < C is not correct.\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 16, 2013 11:08 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nLet me pretend for a moment that $p_n$ is shorthand for the function $n \\times (C-\\epsilon)$. Then $p_{n+1} - p_n \\lt C$ and as you observe $1 - \\frac{p_n}{p_{n+1}} \\lt \\frac{C}{p_{n+1}}$. The limit as $n \\to \\infty$ of the right hand side is zero but so is the left! Note that $\\frac{p_n}{p_{n+1}} = \\frac{n}{n+1}$.\n\nIt is a little more complicated to phrase limiting statements in our context, when the $p_n$ are primes. To say that there are infinitely many prime gaps less than $C$ is to say that the limsup of $p_{n+1}-p_n$ is less that $C$ as $n \\to \\infty$.\n\nThe prime number theorem, which I slightly misquoted above, says that the function $\\pi(n)$ which counts the number of primes less than $n$ is asymptotically equal to $\\frac{n}{\\log(n)}$, meaning if you take the limit as $n \\to \\infty$ of the ratio of these functions you get one. As John points out above, the correct way to express this colloquially is to say that the prime gaps $p_{n+1}-p_n$ are $\\log(p_n)$ on average as $n$ gets large.\n\nPosted by: Emily Riehl on May 16, 2013 3:55 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nthanks for your explanation. I have some confusion still. if p(n)=n*(C-e), lim(p(n)\/p(n+1))=lim(n\/(n+1))=1, but left = 1-1=0,right=0,left10^C, log(p(n))>C. yes, if it\u2019s on average, there are some gaps less than C, but more gaps above C. the ratio become smaller and smaller.when p(n) =infinity, the ratio become zero. no gap is less than C.\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 16, 2013 5:27 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nSorry, I accidentally deleted some comments here. Freepublic posted two identical copies of his\/her \u201cthanks for your explanation\u2026\u201d comment, one of which I deleted \u2014 but an unintended side-effect was that replies to that comment also got removed.\n\nPosted by: Tom Leinster on May 17, 2013 1:50 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nnever mind, because i have some print error, then post twice.\n\nmy opinion is if construct a regular sequence X = x(n+1)-x(n) = log(n), the total of x whoese gaps\nanother way, we can divide axis like this:0____10^C______infinity, we can move all of p(n) whoes gaps are less than C to [0,10^C], and all of p(n) whoes gaps are bigger than C to [10^C,infinity).because the p(n+1)-p(n)=log(n) on average. then the total primes of [0,10^C] eual to total primes of [10^C,infinity). but how could [0,10^C] contain infinite primes?\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 18, 2013 3:23 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nif construct a regular sequence X = x(n+1)-x(n) = log(n), the total of x whose gaps are less than C is finite. X can transform to prime sequence by order and value change.\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 18, 2013 3:38 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nyou have mentioned that \u201cA subset H={h1,\u2026,hk} of distinct natural numbers is admissible if for all primes p the number of distinct residue classes modulo p occupied by these numbers is less than p. (For instance, taking p=2, we see that the gaps between the hj must all be even.) If this condition were not satisfied, then it would not be possible for each element in a collection {n+h1,\u2026,n+hk} to be prime. \u201d could you give me a example to understand. does it mean that p=2, H={1,3,5,7,9,..} hk=?\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 25, 2013 6:33 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nHi! No, {1,3,5,etc.} would not be admissible, as for p=3 all modulo classes are occupied: 1 is 1 mod 3, 3 is 0 mod 3, 5 is 2 mod 3. What this means is that whatever number you add {1,3,5,etc.} to, one of the resulting numbers is going to be 0 mod 3, i.e. a multiple of 3. If you try 10, you get 11, 13, 15 (boom!). So if the set H is not admissible, you know that (at least for large enough n that you add) you will get a non-prime number. I find it quite remarkable that this modest necessary condition should also be a sufficient one for getting infinitely many prime constellations, should the mentioned conjecture be true.\n\nPosted by: Edwin Steiner on May 27, 2013 7:36 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\ndoes it mean that, H={1,2}, H=(1,2,3,4} are admussible. becuase 3>2, 5>3. if p=2, H={1}, there are infinite n, {2+1}, {4+1}, {6+1},{10+1}\u2026 are primes?\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 28, 2013 11:58 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\n5>4, fix a write error\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 28, 2013 11:59 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nIt does not work like \u201cpick a prime p, then find an admissible set H for p\u201d. To be admissible, H must satisfy the condition for all primes p. (Obviously, if you have k elements in H you need only check p <= k, because you cannot occupy >k modulo classes with k numbers.) So {1,2} is not admissible as it is {0,1} mod 2. {1} is admissible and yields the trivial constellations of a single prime each. See http:\/\/mathworld.wolfram.com\/PrimeConstellation.html for valid examples.\n\nPosted by: Edwin Steiner on May 28, 2013 6:58 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThis is another explanation including references: http:\/\/primes.utm.edu\/glossary\/xpage\/PrimeConstellation.html\n\nPosted by: Edwin Steiner on May 28, 2013 7:09 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nthanks for your example. I can understand Zhang\u2019s strategy now. and investigate more details.\n\nPosted by: freepublic on May 29, 2013 4:29 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\n\u201cWhether we grow up to become category theorists or applied mathematicians, one thing that I suspect unites us all is that we were once enchanted by prime numbers.\u201d\n\nI highly disagree with this. I have interest in about 90% of all mathematics and was never interested in elementary features (chanting?) of prime numbers (though I appreciate nowdays large parts of advanced number theory, because I learned of its relation to other things in mathematics, like algebraic geometry), partly because the community of followers likes to emphasis on tricks. In fact, as a school boy, although I was very good in mathematics, I did not even consider ever becoming a mathematician until I learned about areas of mathematics which do not have references to calculation with numbers (and with indeterminates with the same rules as for numbers). I find quite annoying when people argue (without any arguments) that the usual numbers are the basic and natural, god given subject, unlike other areas of mathematics which are supposedly artificial and so on. This kind of hi brow aristocracy within mathematics is not for any mathematician to be proud of.\n\nPosted by: Zoran Skoda on May 16, 2013 2:54 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nI agree with Zoran that the natural god-given virtue of prime numbers is greatly exaggerated. It is true we all spent a few pleasant hours in 5th or 6th grade factoring numbers like 1250 and 210 but never numbers like 91 or 391. After that it gets boring pretty quickly.\n\nProbably the interest of any area of mathematics lies in how hard the unsolved problems are. Twin primes for example are only interesting because it is so very hard to prove things about them. The proofs such as Zhang\u2019s proof are amazingly intricate machines made out of parts with their own history and connections to other areas of mathematics. All of this effort is more interesting than the object it is directed toward.\n\nPosted by: Daniel Goldston on May 18, 2013 3:15 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nIt\u2019s very interesting to read such a statement by a researcher. What also puzzles me in popular texts is when they go on about the amazing apparent randomness of the primes. In my (non-expert) view, the sieve of Eratosthenes is basically a systematic way of removing all regularity (I realize the tension in this statement), so I do not find it surprising that the primes show pseudo-random properties. What I find fascinating about primes is the mysterious connections between addition and multiplication. In my intuition, primes are natural inhabitants of the \u201cmultiplicative world\u201d, where they are simple, and it is striking that they turn out to be so exceedingly complicated when looked at in the \u201cadditive world\u201d (regarding sums of primes, gaps, etc.).\n\nPosted by: Edwin Steiner on June 1, 2013 11:37 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nSurely the sieve of Eratosthenes only remove \u201czero-based\u201d regularity?\n\nPosted by: Tom Ellis on June 1, 2013 6:34 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nI see what you are getting at, but in fact my statement was not meant as something that could be made precise. It is just my reaction on a naive level to the usual popular exposition of the primes, where they first explain how primes are defined and then they show the pattern of the first 100 or so and say \u201cLook how randomly they are scattered! Isn\u2019t that amazing?\u201d, and I think to myself \u201cWell, in the step before you just removed any obvious regularity, so what\u2019s the big deal?\u201d. There may well be some truly amazing pseudo-random properties that are just not mentioned in these texts. The Chebyshev bias is an example that there are at least interesting statistical deviations from pseudo-randomness.\n\nPosted by: Edwin Steiner on June 2, 2013 10:28 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nShe was merely pointing out the fact that prime numbers are fundamental in mathematics.\n\nPosted by: timur on May 23, 2013 4:26 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThe preprint is available from the Annals. You or your institution need to be a subscriber.\n\nOh, and Emily, $k=3.5\\times 10^6$ is correct.\n\nPosted by: David Roberts on May 21, 2013 11:39 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThe k=3500000 is correct: http:\/\/www.wolframalpha.com\/input\/?i=PrimePi%28n%29-+PrimePi%283500000%29++%3D+%283500000%29\n\nPosted by: Ali on May 28, 2013 7:10 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nI can\u2019t say I saw the real point of primes until I came across algebraic number theory and algebraic geometry. Its importance then became much more vivid.\n\nCertainly its true that its a profound enough, but also simple enough idea that even most educated laymen will know what it is about vaguely. Which is why the media seem inordinately keen on them.\n\nPosted by: mozibur ullah on May 28, 2013 10:30 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nIn case anyone isn\u2019t following, there\u2019s discussion at Secret Blogging Seminar where by reasonably simple reasoning the bound is down to 57 554 086.\n\nHowever the key number to reduce is $k_0 = 3.5\\times 10^6$, which hasn\u2019t been touched; all reductions have been in how the bound $k_0$ has been applied.\n\nPosted by: David Roberts on May 31, 2013 9:37 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nI do not quite see that there is two primes n+hi and n+hj. I could only see that there are two primes n1 +hi and n2 +hj with !n1 -n2! < x.\n\nAlso, how do we know that \\pi (70000000)-\\pi (3500000)>3500000?\n\nPosted by: Daniel on May 31, 2013 6:46 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nI think that I got the first question. And am still trying to find the answer of the second. Thanks.\n\nPosted by: Daniel on May 31, 2013 11:38 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nAlso, how do we know that $\\pi (70000000)-\\pi (3500000) \\gt 3500000$?\n\nThere are probably a bunch of ways. Looking to Google and Wikipedia for help, one can look up bounds on the prime-counting function, where one finds inequalities such as\n\n$\\frac{x}{\\ln x}\\left(1+\\frac{1}{\\ln x}\\right) \\lt \\pi(x) \\lt \\frac{x}{\\ln x}\\left(1+\\frac{1}{\\ln x}+\\frac{2.51}{(\\ln x)^2}\\right).$\n\nCall the analytic function on the left $F_1(x)$ and the analytic function on the right $F_2(x)$. According to these inequalities, we have\n\n$\\pi(70000000) - \\pi(3500000) \\gt F_1(70000000) - F_2(3500000) \\gt 4089630 - 250259 = 3839371$\n\nand probably cruder inequalities would work as well, but this gets the job done.\n\nPosted by: Todd Trimble on June 1, 2013 2:54 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nin zone [x,3x], when x trends to infinity.zone becomes [infinity,3*infinity].then p(n+1)-pn=infinity, it satisfy the strategy condition. we think there are 2 primes in zone [x,3x]. but p(n+1)-pn=infinity, which is equivalent to that p(n+1) is not existing.actually, there is only 1 prime in [x,3x], but we think mistakenly there are 2 primes. so pn-pn=0\n\nPosted by: freepublic on July 12, 2013 8:15 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nI see they\u2019ve got the bound down from 70 million to 285,232.\n\nPosted by: David Corfield on June 10, 2013 12:09 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nAnd now the gap is down to 60 744, using a $k_0=6329$ (down from 3.5 million in Emily\u2019s post),\n\nPosted by: David Roberts on June 17, 2013 3:44 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThis morning, I went to an excellent talk on this by Ben Green. One aspect that particularly caught my attention was admissible sets.\n\nEmily already said this in her post above, but I\u2019ll repeat it in Ben\u2019s vivid way. He said: a set $\\{h_1, \\ldots, h_k\\}$ is admissible if there is a chance that there might be infinitely many numbers $n$ such that $n + h_1, \\ldots, n + h_k$ are all prime.\n\nThe conjecture is then: for any admissible set, there really are infinitely many numbers $n$ such that $n + h_1, \\ldots, n + h_k$ are all prime.\n\n(Of course, he made the phrase \u201cthere is a chance\u201d precise: as Emily said, it means that for any prime $p$, the image of $\\{h_1, \\ldots, h_k\\}$ in $\\mathbb{Z}\/p\\mathbb{Z}$ is a proper subset. Actually, it doesn\u2019t matter whether we say \u201cprime $p$\u201d or \u201cnumber $p \\geq 2$\u201d here.)\n\nThe twin prime conjecture is the case $\\{h_1, h_2\\} = \\{0, 2\\}$ of the conjecture above. One thing neither Emily nor Ben pointed out is that the conjecture above would also imply the Green\u2013Tao theorem, that there are arbitrarily long arithmetic progressions of primes.\n\nTo see this, just note that for any $n \\geq 1$, the sequence $1\\cdot n!,\\quad 2\\cdot n!,\\quad \\ldots,\\quad n\\cdot n!$ is admissible. Indeed, for a prime $p$ greater than $n$, obviously these can\u2019t represent all the residue classes mod $p$; and for a prime $p$ less than or equal to $n$, these are all zero mod $p$, so again don\u2019t represent all the residue classes. So the conjecture above implies that there are infinitely many arithmetic progressions of length $n$ and step size $n!$.\n\nBut I\u2019m most interested in something more general. The conjecture above (does it have a name?) is of the form \u201cif there\u2019s no obvious reason for there not to be infinitely many primes satisfying such-and-such, then there really are infinitely many primes satisfying such-and-such\u201d. Here \u201cobvious reason\u201d refers to very simple considerations mod $p$.\n\nAre there more general statements of this type? I mean, some precise conjecture of the form \u201cif it\u2019s not obviously false that there are infinitely primes satisfying such-and-such, it\u2019s true\u201d?\n\nPosted by: Tom Leinster on June 20, 2013 1:43 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThe most general conjecture which I know along these lines is Schinzel\u2019s hypothesis H: For any polynomials $f_1(n)$, $f_2(n)$, \u2026 $f_r(n)$, if there is no \u201cobvious\u201d obstacle to all the $f_i$ taking prime values simultaneously, then they do so infinitely often.\n\nYou want to be a little careful with guesses like this. I would guess that there are only finitely many primes of the form $2^{n^2}+3$, even though there is no obvious obstruction, because the \u201cprobability that $t$ is prime\u201d is $1\/\\log t$ and $\\sum 1\/\\log(2^{n^2}+3)$ converges.\n\nA little more subtly, there is no obvious obstruction to $2^n+1$ being prime, and $\\sum 1\/\\log(2^n+1)$ converges. However, $2^n+1$ being prime implies that $n$ is a power of $2$, and $\\sum 1\/\\log(2^{2^k}+1)$ converges. So I would guess only finitely many primes of the form $2^n+1$, but for a reason which seems hard to make into a general condition.\n\nPosted by: David Speyer on July 12, 2013 6:29 PM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\n### Re: Bounded Gaps Between Primes\n\nThanks so much for this nice summary! It makes me feel like I can almost understand it. I\u2019ll check back at the Google+ conversation for any future comments. I can understand Zhang\u2019s strategy now. and investigate more details. Good job!\n\nPosted by: Melissa on April 14, 2014 8:49 AM | Permalink | Reply to this\n\nPost a New Comment","date":"2014-08-28 05:23:01","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 149, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.9713439345359802, \"perplexity\": 1619.3841046833634}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2014-35\/segments\/1408500830094.68\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20140820021350-00104-ip-10-180-136-8.ec2.internal.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
layout: page
title: Malichyte Storm Systems Conference
date: 2016-05-24
author: Elizabeth Meza
tags: weekly links, java
status: published
summary: Vestibulum vulputate nec leo eu eleifend. Nulla.
banner: images/banner/meeting-01.jpg
booking:
startDate: 03/17/2017
endDate: 03/20/2017
ctyhocn: HLNGAHX
groupCode: MSSC
published: true
---
Pellentesque volutpat magna aliquet arcu dignissim, vel bibendum magna mollis. Vivamus efficitur feugiat erat at tincidunt. Quisque odio neque, convallis finibus ultricies quis, blandit a dolor. Sed vel est vel felis luctus blandit. Aenean nec ultricies diam, non facilisis velit. Praesent in ultricies nisl. In accumsan vel nulla sed pharetra.
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* Nunc euismod elit fringilla aliquet dignissim
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Nullam diam felis, aliquet nec consequat sed, interdum quis sapien. Nullam consequat porttitor sapien, a consequat lectus convallis ut. Aenean vitae sapien eu nulla mattis ornare at euismod nulla. Sed et dignissim elit. Sed sit amet ipsum eget felis finibus sollicitudin. Curabitur bibendum lacus ipsum, sit amet volutpat justo sagittis in. Aenean vel erat felis. Fusce et accumsan dui. Curabitur porttitor nisi id nibh suscipit aliquam. Praesent tincidunt facilisis lorem, ac sodales metus. Suspendisse in pretium lacus. Integer lacinia felis vel placerat tincidunt.
| {
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née est une artiste et illustratrice des albums illustrés japonaise connue pour aquarelles représentant des fleurs et des enfants sur le thème « la paix et de bonheur des enfants ».
En 1933, encore enfant, elle étudie le dessin et la peinture à l'huile avec le peintre Okada Saburōsuke, qui est son précepteur.
En 1946, elle devient une membre du Parti communiste japonais en souhaitant la fin de toutes les guerres et de la douleur des enfants.
En 1974, Iwasaki meurt d'un cancer du foie à l'âge de 55 ans. Sept ans après sa mort, en 1981, Totto-chan, la petite fille à la fenêtre, écrit par Tetsuko Kuroyanagi, est publié avec les illustrations d'Iwasaki.
Style
La majorité de ses illustrations étaient des aquarelles, mais certains de ses travaux sont réalisés en calligraphie japonaise, ainsi qu'à la peinture à l'huile. Son style a été largement influencée par deux de ses écrivains préférés, Kenji Miyazawa et Hans Christian Andersen. Elle a écrit qu'elle se sentait en communion avec Marie Laurencin quand elle a vu une de ses images, et a dit qu'elle a également été impressionnée par Käthe Kollwitz.
Les musées de l'œuvre de Chihiro Iwasaki
Deux musées commémoratifs sont dédiés à Chihiro Iwasaki : , situé à Nerima, Tokyo, depuis 1977 et , situé à Azumino, Nagano ; depuis 1997, ils sont tous les deux administrés par la , fondée en 1976. Les deux musées collectent et présentent les illustrations originales de livres pour enfants de Chihiro et d'autres artistes.
Notes et références
Annexes
Bibliographie
.
Liens externes
Chihiro Art Museum
Livre Japonais
Illustratrice de livres d'enfance et de jeunesse
Illustratrice japonaise
Peintre japonaise
Aquarelliste japonais
Naissance à Echizen
Naissance en décembre 1918
Décès en août 1974
Décès à Tokyo
Décès à 55 ans
Mort d'un cancer du foie | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 2,963 |
Cameroon People's Democratic Movement, Rassemblement démocratique du Peuple Camerounais, a political party in Cameroon
Democratic Assembly of the Comoran People, Rassemblement démocratique du Peuple Comorien, a political party of the Comoros | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 4,407 |
Q: Create MS Access database from a Python app I'm working with Python and interacting with a MS Access database via the JayDeBeApi library. Everything works well, I can create tables and all but the file *.accdb need to be created previously in the MS Access software
Is there a way to dynamically create the *.accdb file via my Python code?
A: You can use the msaccessdb package to create the .accdb file.
(I am the maintainer of that package.)
| {
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\section{Introduction}
Methanol masers are important tracers of star formation, in part due to the complexity of the methanol molecule that results in numerous maser transitions, each prevalent within a slightly different range of physical conditions \citep[e.g][]{Cragg05,McEwen14,Leurini16}. The many transitions of methanol masers are empirically divided into two classes of sources \citep[e.g.][]{Batrla87,Menten91b}. Class I methanol masers are collisionally excited and tend to occupy the region surrounding an outflow or an expanding H{\sc ii} region \citep[e.g.][]{Voronkov14}, while class II methanol masers are radiatively pumped and so are generally much more closely associated with the young star formation region \citep[e.g.][]{CasMMB10}. Whereas some class I methanol masers have been detected towards low-mass stars \citep[e.g][]{Kalenskii2010}, class II methanol masers (at least at 6.7-GHz) are exclusively associated with high-mass star formation regions \citep[e.g.][]{Minier03,Xu08,Breen13}.
In recent years, a definitive, unbiased search for class II methanol masers at 6.7-GHz has been made in the Southern hemisphere \citep{CasMMB10,GreenMMB10,CasMMB11,Green12,Breen15}, detecting 972 maser sites, each of which have been searched for accompanying 12.2-GHz emission, resulting in a detection rate of 45.3 per cent \citep{BreenMMB12a,BreenMMB12b,BreenMMB14,Breen16}. Other, rarer class II methanol maser observations are becoming more prevalent, and significant samples have now been targeted for the 19.9-, 23.1-, 37.7-, 38.3-, 38.5-, 85.5-, 86.6-, 86.9-, 107.0- and 156.6-GHz transitions \citep[e.g.][]{Val'tts99,Ellingsen03,Ellingsen04,Cragg04,Caswell00,Ellingsen11,Umemoto07}. These more rare transitions trace less commonly found physical conditions and their presence either indicates a short-lived evolutionary phase in the star formation process, or unusual star formation regions. In some cases the rarer transitions can also be weaker \citep[although high flux density sources also exist; e.g.][]{Ellingsen18} adding further complexity to their detection. Recently, studies of the transitions at 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz have lead to the suggestion that their short-lived presence may indicate the end of the class II methanol maser phase in high-mass star formation phase \citep{Ellingsen11,Ellingsen13} and the first high-resolution observations of these transitions have been recently made \citep{Ellingsen18}. Other transitions like the 86.6-GHz 7$_{2}$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_{3}$ A$^{-}$ and the 86.9-GHz 7$_{2}$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_{3}$ A$^{+}$ transitions are especially rare, even taking into account the relatively small number of searches that have been conducted. To date, maser emission in these transitions have only been detected towards G345.01+1.79, W3(OH) and W51-IRS1 \citep{Cragg01,Sutton01,Minier02,Ellingsen03}
Class I methanol masers studies have also generally been limited to targeted observations \citep[e.g.][]{Kurtz04,Ellingsen05,Cyg09,Chen11,Voronkov14,GM16,RG17}, with the exception of a recently completed survey of 5 square degrees of the Southern galaxy in the 44-GHz transition \citep{Jordan15,Jordan17}, a small region towards the Galactic center in the 36-GHz transition \citep{YZ13}, and a large-scale search for the rare 23.4-GHz transition \citep[only one detection made in a relatively shallow search across a 100$^{\circ}$ $\times$ 1$^{\circ}$ region of the Galactic plane;][]{Voronkov11}. The most extensively studied lines are those at 36-, 44- and 95-GHz and have resulted in hundreds of detections across the Galaxy \citep[e.g][]{Jordan17,Voronkov14,Chen11}. The 5$_{-1}$ - 4$_0$ E class I methanol maser transition at 84-GHz is particularly poorly characterised, having only been observed in a small number of searches since the transition was first detected towards DR 21(OH), NGC2264 and OMC-2 \citep{BM88,Menten91}. The most extensive search for this transition was conducted by \citet{Kalenskii01} who targeted 51 class I methanol masers, detecting narrow maser-like emission towards 14 of their targets and quasi-thermal emission towards a further 34. An additional search by \citet{RG18} targeted 38 sites of 44-GHz methanol maser emission with the Large Millimeter Telescope and resulted in a detection rate of 74 per cent despite a velocity resolution of $\sim$100~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. Further, targeted observations of this transition have included a limited number of sources, revealing detections at the locations of both high- and low-mass star formation regions \citep[e.g.][]{Salii02,Kalenskii06}. Maser emission from the 84-GHz transition (5$_{-1}$ - 4$_0$ E) is expected to be similar to the more widely studied 36-GHz (4$_{-1}$ - 3$_0$ E) transition given that they are consecutive transitions in the same transition series. The more commonly observed class I masers at 44- (7$_0$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_1$ A$^+$) and 95-GHz (8$_0$ $\rightarrow$ 7$_1$ A$^+$) are also consecutive transitions in the same (J+1)$_0$ $\rightarrow$ J$_1$ A$^+$ transition series. The 95-GHz transition has a high detection rate towards 44-GHz sources, but is usually about a factor of three weaker \citep[e.g][]{Val'tts00,McCarthy18}.
Here we present a series of spectral line observations conducted with the Mopra radio telescope towards 94 class I methanol maser targets \citep{Kurtz04,Voronkov14}. The primary goal of the observations was to detect new sources of the poorly studied 84-GHz class I methanol maser transition, with quasi-simultaneous observations of the 36-GHz class I methanol maser line also included to obtain meaningful line ratios to inform maser pumping models and to allow comparisons with observations of extragalactic class I sources \citep[e.g.][]{McCarthy17,Ellingsen17,McCarthyIP}. Alongside these main target lines we were able to include a number of other, rare class II methanol maser lines (at 37.7-, 38.3-, 38.5-, 86.6- and 86.9-GHz) as well as a number of recombination lines and thermal lines, tracing dense and shocked gas, and allowing us to make some comparisons between the detected methanol masers and their environments. Given that the Mopra beam is 1.3$\arcmin$ and at 36~GHz and 0.6$\arcmin$ at 84~GHz, on the scale of whole clumps rather than individual star formation regions, we present the results and discussion with this in mind.
\section{Observations and data reduction}
\subsection{Targets}
Our observations targeted the locations of 94 known sites of class~I methanol maser emission, comprising the full \citet{Voronkov14} sample of 71 southern 36- and 44-GHz class I methanol masers along with a further 23 sources from the \citet{Kurtz04} sample of 44-GHz class I methanol masers (we excluded 14 sources from their sample as their declinations were north of +20 degrees).
\citet{Voronkov14} targeted their 36- and 44-GHz class~I methanol maser observation towards known class I methanol masers south of a declination of $-$35 degrees, combining detections reported by \citet{Slysh94}, \citet{Val'tts00} and \citet{Ellingsen05}, which themselves targeted the locations of H{\sc ii} regions, 6.7-GHz methanol maser emission and 22-GHz water maser emission. \citet{Kurtz04} directed their 44-GHz class I methanol maser observations towards a diverse sample of 44 star formation regions, including both very young regions devoid of accompanying UCH{\sc ii} regions as well as those slightly more evolved sources with developed UCH{\sc ii} regions. Our sample of 94 targets therefore represents a range of sources, initially detected in a range of selection methods and as such should not be dominated by a particular class of object.
Both \citet{Voronkov14} and \citet{Kurtz04} provide spot maps of each of their sources, revealing the extent of the class I methanol maser emission in each case. We have targeted the centre of the class I maser emission region as reported by \citet{Voronkov14} for 71 of our targets and observed the averaged right ascension and declinations of the maser spot positions reported in \citet{Kurtz04} for the remaining 23. Our full target list, together with appropriate references, is given in Table~\ref{tab:84_36}.
\subsection{Observations}
We conducted targeted observations at both 7 and 3mm towards the 94 class I methanol maser sites, using the Mopra 22-m radio telescope between 2018 April 30 and 2018 May 6. At both frequencies, the Mopra spectrometer (MOPS) was configured to record two orthogonal linear polarisations across 16 sub-bands, each covering 138 MHz with 4096 channels. During the 7mm observations these sub bands were distributed in the frequency range of 33077 to 40805~MHz and during the 3mm observations between 84468 and 92127~MHz, allowing us to observe up to 16 lines simultaneously at both 7- and 3mm. This configuration resulted in a velocity coverage of $\sim$1100~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ and a native velocity resolution of $\sim$0.34~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ at 36.2-GHz and a velocity coverage of 480~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ and a native velocity resolution of $\sim$0.14~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. The targeted lines are listed in Table~\ref{tab:lines}, and includes the typical 1-$\sigma$ noise limits as well as the final velocity resolution (taking any smoothing into account).
At both frequency set ups, the pointing was corrected by observing a nearby SiO maser approximately once per hour, resulting in pointing uncertainties of less than 10$\arcsec$. Each target was observed in a series of position-switched observations, with reference observations made $-$15$\arcmin$ in declination from each target. At 7mm we observed a reference, source, source, reference pattern once and spent one minute at each position, resulting in a total on source integration time of two minutes. At 3mm we repeated the same observation pattern twice, and spent two minutes at each position, making our total on source integration time eight minutes. At 7mm the system temperature was measured soley by a continuously switched noise diode, but at 3mm we also made a paddle measurements every 15 - 20 mins to achieve a calibrated antenna temperature. We estimate that the flux density/antenna temperature measurements are accurate to 20 per cent (taking into account residual pointing errors, opacity variations and primary calibration errors).
At the frequency of the 36-GHz methanol maser line, the HPBW of Mopra is 1.3$\arcmin$ and at the frequency of the 84-GHz methanol maser line it as 0.6$\arcmin$, which are both large enough to accommodate the majority of expected class I methanol maser distributions \citep{Voronkov14}.
\begin{table*}
\caption{Target spectral lines split into methanol masers (top), thermal molecular lines (middle) and radio recombination lines (bottom). The observed line is followed by the adopted rest frequency (with uncertainties listed for the maser transitions in units of the least significant figure), the velocity resolution (post processing), the K to Jy conversion factor used (where appropriate), the typical 1-$\sigma$ noise level (in Jy where a conversion factor is given otherwise in K), rest frequency reference, and, finally notes indicating the class of maser or drawing attention to lines that had an incomplete coverage in our sample due to a suboptimal frequency set up (``incomplete") and are therefore not observed for every source.}
\begin{tabular}{llllllll} \hline
\multicolumn{1}{l}{\bf Spectral line} &\multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf Rest} & \multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf V$_{res.}$} & \multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf K to Jy} & \multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf typical} &\multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf Reference} & \multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf notes}\\
&\multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf frequency} & \multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf ($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)} & \multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf factor}& \multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf noise}\\
& & {\bf (MHz)} & &\multicolumn{1}{c}{\bf (Jy or K)} \\
\hline
CH$_3$OH 4$_{-1}$ $\rightarrow$ 3$_0$ E & 36169.290(14) & 0.34 & 13.6&0.8 & \citet{XL97} & class I \\
CH$_3$OH 7$_{-2}$ $\rightarrow$ 8$_{-1}$ E & 37703.696(13) & 0.32 & 14& 0.8 & \citet{XL97} & class II\\
CH$_3$OH 6$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 5$_3$ A$^-$ & 38293.292(14) & 0.32& 14& 0.8 & \citet{XL97} & class II\\
CH$_3$OH 6$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 5$_3$ A$^+$ & 38452.652(14) & 0.32 & 14& 0.8 & \citet{XL97} & class II\\
CH$_3$OH 5$_{-1}$ $\rightarrow$ 4$_0$ E & 84521.169(10) & 0.20 & 16 & 0.8 & \citet{Muller04} & class I \\
CH$_3$OH 7$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_3$ A$^-$ & 86615.600(5) & 0.20 & 16 &0.8 & \citet{Muller04} & class II \\
CH$_3$OH 7$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_3$ A$^+$ & 86902.949(5) & 0.20 & 16 & 0.8 & \citet{Muller04} & class II\\ \hline
H$^{13}$CN & 86339.9214 & 0.20 & -- & 0.04& \citet{splat07}& incomplete\\
H$^{13}$CO$^{+}$ (1$-$0)& 86754.2884 & 0.20 & --& 0.04 & \citet{splat07}\\
SiO (2$-$0) v=0 & 86846.96 & 0.20 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{splat07} \\
HCN (1$-$0) & 88631.847 & 0.19 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{splat07}\\
CH$_3$OH 15$_3$ $\rightarrow$ 14$_4$ A$^-$ & 88940.09 & 0.19 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{splat07}\\
HCO$^+$ (1$-$0) & 89188.5247 & 0.19 & -- & 0.04& \citet{splat07} \\%89188.526
CH$_3$OH 8$_{-4}$ $\rightarrow$ 9$_{-3}$ E & 89505.808 & 0.19 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{splat07}\\
HNC (1$-$0) & 90663.568 & 0.19 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{splat07}\\
HC$_3$N (10$-$9) & 90979.023 & 0.19 & -- & 0.04& \citet{splat07}\\
CH$_3$CN 5(1)$-$4(1)& 91985.3141 & 0.19 & -- & 0.05& \citet{splat07} \\
\hline
H72$\beta$ & 33821.51 & 0.51 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{Lilley68} \\
H57$\alpha$ & 34596.39 & 0.50 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{Lilley68}\\
H69$\beta$ & 38360.28 & 0.48 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{Lilley68}\\
H55$\alpha$ & 38473.36 & 0.45 & -- & 0.04 & \citet{Lilley68}\\
H42$\alpha$ &85688.40 & 0.20 & -- & 0.06 & \citet{Lilley68}& incomplete\\
H41$\alpha$ & 92034.45 & 0.19 & -- & 0.06 &\citet{Lilley68} \\
\hline
\end{tabular}\label{tab:lines}
\end{table*}
\subsection{Data reduction}
The data were processed using the ATNF Spectral Analysis Package (ASAP) using standard techniques for position switched observations. Alignment of the velocity channels was carried out during processing and the adopted rest frequencies are given in Table~\ref{tab:lines}. For some of the lines, data were Hanning smoothed during the processing and the resultant velocity resolutions are also given in Table~\ref{tab:lines}. The maser data were converted from antenna temperature to Janskys following \citet{Urquhart10} at 7mm, who give conversion factors of 13.6 and 14 for the 36-GHz methanol transition and the three class II transitions near 38-GHz, respectively. At 3mm the conversion factor was calculated using the main beam efficiency presented by \citet{Ladd05} which implies an antenna temperature to Jansky conversion factor of 16. For each of the maser transitions the conversion factor used is listed in Table~\ref{tab:lines}. Molecular and recombination lines are presented in units of antenna temperature (T$_A^*$).
Typical 1-$\sigma$ noise limits for each of the lines are given in Table~\ref{tab:lines} in units of Jy for the masers and antenna temperature for all other lines. In the case where 36- and 84-GHz emission is not detected, source specific 3-$\sigma$ detection limits are given in Table~\ref{tab:84_36} and likewise for the thermal molecular and recombination lines listed in Table~\ref{tab:thermal}.
In the case of the molecular and recombination lines, we fitted Gaussian profiles to the emission. In the simple cases for lines without hyperfine structure, a single Gaussian component was used to determine the peak antenna temperature, peak velocity, line width and integrated intensity. For HCN we simultaneously fit the hyperfine components and have presented the peak antenna temperature, peak velocity, line width of the main line and the combined integrated intensity, including the hyperfine components. In the case of CH$_3$CN we have fit each of the detected hyperfine components simultaneously but presented each of them individually. Given our limited signal-to-noise ratio, we have detected a range in the number of components from one right through to five.
\section{Results}
Observations of seven different methanol maser transitions, 10 molecular lines and six recombination lines have resulted in a rich data set, with many detections of the target lines. Given the large number of lines, we describe the results in subgroups. For some sources which require additional information to that which can be described in tables and spectra there are comments given in Section~\ref{sect:individual}.
\subsection{36- and 84-GHz methanol sources}
Of the 94 class I methanol masers targeted (previously characterised at either or both of the 36- and 44-GHz transitions), we have detected 92 in the 36-GHz transition and 93 in the 84-GHz transition. The two sources we failed to detect at 36-GHz were Mol77 and G\,45.07+0.13 which were both reported by \citet{Kurtz04} as 44-GHz class I methanol masers (Mol77 is also the only source where no emission was detected in the 84-GHz methanol line). The first of these was detected with a peak flux density of 0.57~Jy and the second was detected at 1.08~Jy by \citet{Kurtz04} during their observations in 1999 and 2000, respectively. Given that 44-GHz masers are generally stronger than accompanying emission in the 36-GHz transition \citep{Voronkov14}, and that our 3-$\sigma$ 36-GHz detection limits are higher than the reported 44-GHz peak flux densities (1.9 and 1.8~Jy for the 36 and 84-GHz transitions in Mol77, and 2.9~Jy for the 36-GHz transition in G\,45.07+0.13), their non-detection is expected.
The properties of both the 36- and 84-GHz masers are given in Table~\ref{tab:84_36}, including 3-$\sigma$ detection limits where appropriate. References to previously detected 84-GHz sources are given in the final column, indicating that only six of the 93 detections have been reported in the literature previously. References to previously detected 36-GHz masers are not explicitly given in Table~\ref{tab:84_36} but those 71 targets taken from \citet{Voronkov14} (indicated by a `$^1$' following the source name) were characterised at both 36- and 44-GHz in that work. The remaining 23 targets are taken from a 44-GHz methanol maser catalogue \citep{Kurtz04} for which few sources have been followed up at 36-GHz previously.
For each of the 94 class I methanol maser targets, spectra of the detected 84-GHz sources have been overlaid with the detected 36-GHz emission in Fig.~\ref{fig:84_spect}. For completeness we have included the three spectra where we fail to detect any emission. These spectra highlight that the structure of the two transitions are remarkably similar in almost all cases.
\begin{figure*}
\psfig{figure=84_meth_1overlay.eps}
\caption{Spectra of the 84-GHz methanol (black) and 36-GHz methanol (grey) sources detected towards class I methanol maser targets.}
\label{fig:84_spect}
\end{figure*}
\begin{figure*}\addtocounter{figure}{-1}
\psfig{figure=84_meth_2overlay.eps}
\caption{--{\emph {continued}}}
\end{figure*}
\begin{figure*}\addtocounter{figure}{-1}
\psfig{figure=84_meth_3overlay.eps}
\caption{--{\emph {continued}}}
\end{figure*}
\begin{figure*}\addtocounter{figure}{-1}
\psfig{figure=84_meth_4overlay.eps}
\caption{--{\emph {continued}}}
\end{figure*}
\begin{figure*}\addtocounter{figure}{-1}
\psfig{figure=84_meth_5overlay.eps}
\caption{--{\emph {continued}}}
\end{figure*}
\onecolumn
\begin{table*}
\caption{36- and 84-GHz methanol detections towards class I methanol maser sites reported in \citet{Voronkov14} and \citet{Kurtz04}. Source names (column 1) have been adopted from those publications, but where those names do not represent the Galactic coordinates, those are presented in parentheses following the adopted name. Column 2 and 3 give the targeted right ascension and declination (J2000), followed by two groups of five columns which give the minimum, maximum and peak velocity, the peak flux density and integrated flux density for the 36- and 84-GHz transitions (in units of Jy~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$), respectively. In the case where transitions are not detected, 3-$\sigma$ detection limits are given in place of a measured peak flux density.
Targets from the \citet{Voronkov14} sample were observed at 36-GHz in that work and references to previous detections of 84-GHz methanol emission are: 1: \citet{Kalenskii01}; 2: \citet{Voronkov06}.
}
\resizebox{\columnwidth}{!}{
\begin{tabular}{llllllrlrlllcllllll} \hline
\multicolumn{1}{l}{Source name} &\multicolumn{2}{c}{Equatorial coordinates} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{36-GHz methanol masers} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{84-GHz methanol masers} & {Refs}\\
\multicolumn{1}{l}{($l,b$)}& {RA (2000)} & {Dec. (2000)} & {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} & {S$_{int}$} & {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} &{S$_{int}$} \\
\multicolumn{1}{l}{($^{\circ}$ $^{\circ}$)} &{(h m s)} & \multicolumn{1}{r}{($^{\circ}$ $'$ $''$)}&\multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)}& (Jy) & &\multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)}& (Jy) & \\ \hline
S255$^2$ (G\,192.58$-$0.04) & 06 12 53.8 & +18 00 26.5 & 6.4 & 11.7 & 10.0 & 12.0 & 27.7 & 6.1 & 11.8 & 11.1 & 14.2 & 37.9 & 1 \\
G\,269.15$-$1.13$^1$ & 09 03 32.2 & $-$48 28 10 & 8.1 & 12.3 & 10.1 & 8.8 & 24.2 & 7.6 & 13.0 & 10.3 & 12.8 & 31.0 \\
G\,270.26+0.84$^1$ & 09 16 40.7 & $-$47 56 16 & 7.0 & 18.0 & 9.8 & 21.5 & 60.4 & 6.8 & 18.5 & 9.8 & 28.0 & 99.7\\
G\,294.98$-$1.73$^1$ & 11 39 14.1 & $-$63 29 10 & $-$9.3 & 1.6 & $-$7.9 & 7.0 & 24.1 & $-$10.6 & 2.2 & $-$8.2 & 6.8 & 21.9 \\
G\,300.97+1.15$^1$ & 12 34 52.3 & $-$61 39 55 & $-$43.6 & $-$40.6 & $-$42.2 & 30.5 & 21.4 & $-$44.5 & $-$40.7 & $-$42.2 & 19.3 & 26.7\\
G\,301.14$-$0.23$^1$ & 12 35 35.3 & $-$63 02 29 & $-$42.7 & $-$34.9 & $-$35.2 & 8.5 & 14.3 & $-$42.7 & $-$35.0 & $-$35.4 & 12.0 & 39.8 \\
G\,305.21+0.21$^1$ & 13 11 10.6 & $-$62 34 45 & $-$45.8 & $-$36.8 & $-$42.1 & 11.4 & 28.1 & $-$43.5 & $-$39.4 & $-$42.4 & 9.3 & 9.5\\
G\,305.25+0.25$^1$ & 13 11 32.5 & $-$62 32 08 & $-$37.9 & $-$35.7 & $-$36.8 & 21.9 & 28.0 & $-$38.3 & $-$35.7 & $-$36.9 & 10.8 & 15.4\\
G\,305.37+0.21$^1$ & 13 12 33.1 & $-$62 33 47 & $-$43.1 & $-$31.1 & $-$33.1 & 61.2 & 84.8 & $-$39.8 & $-$37.5 & $-$38.1 & 2.7 & 3.7 \\
G\,309.38$-$0.13$^1$ & 13 47 22.3 & $-$62 18 01 & $-$83.5 & $-$46.9 & $-$50.5 & 48.7 & 142.5 & $-$55.3 & $-$49.1 & $-$50.9 & 12.2 & 35.9\\
G\,316.76$-$0.01$^1$ & 14 44 56.1 & $-$59 48 02 & $-$42.4 & $-$35.7 & $-$39.4 & 12.5 & 19.9 & $-$42.4 & $-$35.2 & $-$39.3 & 8.1 & 16.2\\
G\,318.05+0.09$^1$ & 14 53 43.2 & $-$59 08 58 & $-$52.4 & $-$47.4 & $-$50.2 & 6.9 & 14.7 & $-$52.8 & $-$48.0 & $-$50.0 & 7.2 & 18.2\\
G\,318.95$-$0.20$^1$ & 15 00 55.5 & $-$58 58 54 & $-$37.2 & $-$27.7 & $-$36.1 & 10.4 & 40.6 & $-$36.9 & $-$27.8 & $-$36.1 & 10.0 & 38.7\\
G\,320.29$-$0.31$^1$ & 15 10 19.1 & $-$58 25 17 & $-$68.6 & $-$63.3 & $-$66.4 & 12.8 & 29.7 & $-$68.2 & $-$63.6 & $-$66.4 & 13.8 & 30.3\\
G\,322.16+0.64$^1$ & 15 18 37.0 & $-$56 38 22 & $-$61.0 & $-$50.7 & $-$54.0 & 16.3 & 85.3 & $-$61.0 & $-$50.6 & $-$57.6 & 16.8 & 85.8 \\
G\,323.74$-$0.26$^1$ & 15 31 45.6 & $-$56 30 52 & $-$52.0 & $-$46.1 & $-$50.0 & 5.0 & 13.0 & $-$51.9 & $-$47.5 & $-$49.9 & 8.7 & 20.3\\
G\,324.72+0.34$^1$ & 15 34 57.9 & $-$55 27 27 & $-$55.5 & $-$45.2 & $-$51.9 & 37.6 & 73.9 & $-$54.3 & $-$47.1 & $-$51.8 & 16.4 & 33.8\\
G\,326.48+0.70$^1$ & 15 43 18.1 & $-$54 07 25 & $-$54.9 & $-$30.1 & $-$45.4 & 76.0 & 337.7 & $-$49.0 & $-$31.1 & $-$41.1 & 36.2 & 188.9\\
G\,326.64+0.61$^1$ & 15 44 31.0 & $-$54 05 10 & $-$48.7 & $-$26.3 & $-$37.5 & 93.1 & 368.5 & $-$44.3 & $-$35.3 & $-$38.3 & 13.9 & 64.6\\
G\,326.66+0.57$^1$ & 15 44 47.7 & $-$54 06 43 & $-$41.1 & $-$37.2 & $-$38.3 &3.1 & 7.1 &$-$40.3 & $-$39.7 & $-$40.1 & 2.0 & 0.8 \\
G\,326.86$-$0.68$^1$ & 15 51 13.9 & $-$54 58 05 & $-$70.1 & $-$64.8 & $-$67.0 & 6.5 & 18.9 & $-$69.9 & $-$65.2 & $-67.1$ & 6.6 & 16.8\\
G\,327.29$-$0.58$^1$ & 15 53 09.5 & $-$54 36 57 & $-$51.6 & $-$37.7 & $-$45.5 & 61.8 & 263.4 & $-$51.6 & $-$38.4 & $-$45.6 & 68.4 & 304.8\\
G\,327.39+0.20$^1$ & 15 50 19.2 & $-$53 57 07 & $-$91.6 & $-$84.6 & $-$88.3 & 9.7 & 40.7 & $-$91.7 & $-$84.6 & $-$89.2 & 8.5 & 32.7\\
G\,327.62$-$0.11$^1$ & 15 52 50.2 & $-$54 03 03 & $-$91.7 & $-$85.8 & $-$88.4 & 3.9 & 10.3& $-$91.9 & $-$85.3 & $-$88.2 & 4.2 & 8.9\\
G\,328.21$-$0.59$^1$ & 15 57 59.5 & $-$54 02 14 & $-$42.3 & $-$40.4 & $-$40.7 & 11.2 & 10.4 & $-$42.1 & $-$39.7 & $-$40.9 & 8.5 & 9.1 \\
G\,328.24$-$0.55$^1$ & 15 58 01.2 & $-$53 59 09 & $-$47.4 & $-$37.9 & $-$40.9 & 6.3 & 27.4 & $-$46.5 & $-$41.5 & $-$42.0 & 2.5 & 2.0\\
G\,328.25$-$0.53$^1$ & 15 58 02.2 & $-$53 57 29 & $-$53.5 & $-$41.2 & $-$45.7 & 19.4 & 66.0 & $-$48.3 & $-$42.8 & $-$45.3 & 5.5 & 18.9\\
G\,328.81+0.63$^1$ & 15 55 48.7 & $-$52 43 03 & $-$46.1 & $-$38.5 & $-$42.4 & 17.7 & 48.6 & $-$56.7 & $-$21.9 & $-$41.4 & 22.6 & 104.1 \\
G\,329.03$-$0.20$^1$ & 16 00 30.9 & $-$53 12 34 & $-$51.9 & $-$36.8 & $-$46.9 & 47.0 & 219.2 & $-$49.9 & $-$37.9 & $-$43.9 & 15.8 & 90.0\\
G\,329.07$-$0.31$^1$ & 16 01 09.6 & $-$53 16 08 & $-$49.6 & $-$34.8 & $-$44.0 & 28.0 & 162.7 & $-$48.5 & $-$38.0 & $-$44.0 & 10.3 & 55.9\\
G\,329.18$-$0.31$^1$ & 16 01 46.7 & $-$53 11 38 & $-$57.9 & $-$42.6 & $-$49.8 & 23.7 & 105.9 & $-$53.0 & $-$42.7 & $-$49.3 & 11.6 & 48.0\\
G\,329.47+0.50$^1$ & 15 59 39.8 & $-$52 23 35 & $-$79.9 & $-$60.7 & $-$69.1 & 11.2 & 71.4 & $-$75.4 & $-$66.1 & $-$68.6 & 5.0 & 22.6\\
G\,331.13$-$0.24$^1$ & 16 10 59.9 & $-$51 50 19 & $-$92.6 & $-$82.3 & $-$88.2 & 39.3 & 127.7 &$-$92.6 & $-$81.2 & $-$91.1 & 20.3 & 106.0\\
G\,331.34$-$0.35$^1$ & 16 12 26.5 & $-$51 46 20 & $-$66.2 & $-$65.1 & $-$65.4 & 15.2 & 11.4 & $-$66.6 & $-$65.2 & $-$65.6 & 8.1 & 7.7\\
G\,331.44$-$0.19$^1$ & 16 12 11.4 & $-$51 35 09 & $-$91.6 & $-$84.9 & $-$88.0 & 9.2 & 31.4 & $-$91.8 & $-$85.9 & $-$88.1 & 5.9 & 20.9\\
G\,332.30$-$0.09$^1$ & 16 15 45.2 & $-$50 55 54 & $-$53.3 & $-$47.5 &$-$49.7 & 14.7 & 21.8 & $-$53.6 & $-$46.2 & $-$49.8 & 10.8 & 30.1\\
G\,332.60$-$0.17$^1$ & 16 17 29.4 & $-$50 46 08 & $-$48.1 & $-$44.2 & $-$45.9 & 13.0 & 17.2 & $-$47.7 & $-$44.8 & $-$45.9 & 7.3 & 10.4\\
G\,332.94$-$0.69$^1$ & 16 21 20.3 & $-$50 54 12 & $-$52.2 & $-$47.2 & $-$49.5 & 3.3 & 6.2 & $-$50.8 & $-$47.4 & $-$48.8 & 4.2 & 7.9\\
G\,332.96$-$0.68$^1$ & 16 21 22.5 & $-$50 52 57 & $-$58.4 & $-$45.0 & $-$48.6 & 9.3 & 43.0 & $-$54.9 & $-$46.3 & $-$48.6 & 7.9 & 34.6\\
G\,333.03$-$0.06$^1$ & 16 18 56.7 & $-$50 23 54 & $-$40.9 & $-$39.7 & $-$40.9 & 2.9 & 2.6 & $-$42.0 & $-$39.8 & $-$40.9 & 2.5 & 3.0\\
G\,333.13$-$0.44$^1$ & 16 21 02.1 & $-$50 35 49 & $-$56.1 & $-$44.4 & $-$49.9 & 117.8 & 208.0 & $-$56.1 & $-$44.4 & $-$50.0 & 38.7 & 135.8\\
G\,333.13$-$0.56$^1$ & 16 21 36.1 & $-$50 40 57 & $-$63.9 & $-$49.4 & $-$56.1 & 37.7 & 171.0 & $-$62.9 & $-$51.7 & $-$56.0 & 16.1 & 83.1\\
G\,333.16$-$0.10$^1$ & 16 19 42.5 & $-$50 19 57 & $-$91.6 & $-$91.3 & $-$91.3 & 3.2 & 1.5 & $-$92.4 & $-$91.3 & $-$92.4 & 1.2 & 0.8 \\
G\,333.18$-$0.09$^1$ & 16 19 46.0 & $-$50 18 34 & $-$86.8 & $-$84.9 & $-$86.3 & 4.4 & 4.7 & $-$87.5 & $-$86.1 & $-$86.2 & 2.9 & 2.7\\
G\,333.23$-$0.06$^1$ & 16 19 50.8 & $-$50 15 13 & $-$98.0 & $-$79.0 & $-$87.1 & 95.9 & 248.0 & $-$91.9 & $-$83.3 & $-$87.2 & 48.0 & 120.1\\
G\,333.32+0.11$^1$ & 16 19 28.3 & $-$50 04 46 & $-$54.7 & $-$42.1 & $-$47.1 & 10.4 & 44.0 & $-$50.4 & $-$41.4 & $-$46.3 & 5.9 & 34.0\\
G\,333.47$-$0.16$^1$ & 16 21 20.2 & $-$50 09 44 & $-$47.8 & $-$40.6 & $-$43.1 & 21.9 & 43.9 & $-$47.4 & $-$42.0 & $-$43.0 & 4.3 & 9.0 \\
G\,333.56$-$0.02$^1$ & 16 21 08.8 & $-$49 59 48 & $-$40.3 & $-$38.9 & $-$39.7 & 28.7 & 22.4 & $-$40.3 & $-$39.0 & $-$40.0 & 5.4 & 4.8 \\
G\,333.59$-$0.21$^1$ & 16 22 06.7 & $-$50 06 23 & $-$51.9 & $-$44.4 & $-$49.4& 10.7 & 22.0 & $-$50.7 & $-$44.5 & $-$49.4 & 5.7 & 15.7\\
G\,335.06$-$0.43$^1$ & 16 29 23.4 & $-$49 12 26 & $-$41.2 & $-$37.0 & $-$40.6 & 7.5 & 17.8 & $-$43.3 & $-$38.3 & $-$39.5 & 5.8 & 9.3\\
G\,335.59$-$0.29$^1$ & 16 31 00.3 & $-$48 43 37 & $-$54.0 & $-$37.8 & $-45.3$ & 244.7 & 347.4 & $-$48.8 & $-$41.0 & $-$45.4 & 18.7 & 60.7\\
G\,335.79+0.17$^1$ & 16 29 46.5 & $-$48 15 50 & $-$57.3 & $-$44.1 & $-$49.7 & 13.8 & 54.8 & $-$53.2 & $-$46.8 & $-$49.1 & 7.3 & 21.8 \\
G\,336.41$-$0.26$^1$ & 16 34 13.5 & $-$48 06 18 & $-$95.3 & $-$84.7 & $-$87.5 & 31.5 & 43.4 & $-$96.0 & $-$84.5 & $-$87.0 & 8.9 & 40.3\\
G\,337.40$-$0.40$^1$ & 16 38 48.9 & $-$47 27 55 & $-$45.8 & $-$36.8 & $-$40.5 & 11.9 & 22.5 & $-$43.3 & $-$38.9 & $-$41.8 & 8.1 & 18.1\\
G\,337.92$-$0.46$^1$ & 16 41 08.5 & $-$47 07 44 & $-$44.0 & $-$34.3 & $-$43.5 & 22.2 & 37.2 & $-$43.8 & $-$34.2 & $-$43.4 & 9.9 & 29.4 \\
G\,338.92+0.55$^1$ & 16 40 34.5 & $-$45 41 50 & $-$78.2 & $-$52.8 & $-$62.8 & 189.0 & 594.0 & $-$69.4 & $-$55.7 & $-$63.0 & 33.1 & 184.2\\
G\,339.88$-$1.26$^1$ & 16 52 04.3 & $-$46 08 28 & $-$34.5 & $-$30.1 & $-$31.5 & 6.1 & 14.6 & $-$34.1 & $-$31.1 & $-$31.8 & 3.7 & 5.2\\
G\,341.19$-$0.23$^1$ & 16 52 16.4 & $-$44 28 44 & $-$63.5 & $-$15.2 & $-$41.7 & 83.6 & 122.8 & $-$51.3 & $-$41.7 & $-$41.8 & 7.1 & 3.2\\
\end{tabular}%
}
\end{table*}
\begin{table*}\addtocounter{table}{-1}
\caption{-- {\emph {continued}}} \label{tab:84_36}
\resizebox{\columnwidth}{!}{
\begin{tabular}{llllllrlrlllcllllll} \hline
\multicolumn{1}{l}{Source name} &\multicolumn{2}{c}{Equatorial coordinates} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{36-GHz methanol masers} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{84-GHz methanol masers} & {Refs}\\
\multicolumn{1}{l}{($l,b$)}& {RA (2000)} & {Dec. (2000)} & {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} & {S$_{int}$} & {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} &{S$_{int}$} \\
\multicolumn{1}{l}{($^{\circ}$ $^{\circ}$)} &{(h m s)} & \multicolumn{1}{r}{($^{\circ}$ $'$ $''$)}&\multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)}& (Jy) & &\multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)}& (Jy) & \\ \hline
G\,341.22$-$0.21$^1$ & 16 52 17.4 & $-$44 27 03 & $-$46.2 & $-$38.9 & $-$43.1 & 25.6 & 56.1 & $-$48.2 & $-$39.0 & $-$43.2 & 15.0 & 41.7\\
G\,343.12$-$0.06$^1$ & 16 58 16.8 & $-$42 52 09 & $-$36.6 & $-$22.9 & $-$27.1 & 43.3 & 115.7 & $-$36.5 & $-$24.1 & $-$27.3 & 23.4 & 79.6 & 2\\
G\,344.23$-$0.57$^1$ & 17 04 07.8 & $-$42 18 26 & $-$26.9 & $-$15.7 & $-$20.5 & 29.4 & 130.9 & $-$26.4 & $-$15.1 & $-$21.1 & 20.6 & 91.5\\
G\,345.00$-$0.22$^1$ & 17 05 10.7 & $-$41 29 13 & $-$34.9 & $-$20.1 & $-$27.9 & 34.0 & 100.3 & $-$34.4 & $-$20.1 & $-$28.0 & 29.6 & 102.0\\
G\,345.01+1.79$^1$ & 16 56 46.0 & $-$40 14 09 & $-$19.6 & $-$9.9 & $-$13.2 & 55.7 & 111.6 & $-$20.1 & $-$9.1 & $-$13.2 & 46.8 & 135.5\\
G\,345.42$-$0.95$^1$ & 17 09 35.6 & $-$41 35 40 & $-$24.8 & $-$17.5 & $-$17.8 & 4.0 & 8.9 & $-$23.8 & $-$21.3 & $-$23.0 & 2.4 & 3.4\\
G\,345.50+0.35$^1$ & 17 04 24.1 & $-$40 44 07 & $-$19.9 & $-$13.5 & $-$17.4 & 6.1 & 25.7 & $-$19.8 & $-$14.0 & $-$17.4 & 3.2 & 12.0\\
G\,348.18+0.48$^1$ & 17 12 06.8 & $-$38 30 38 & $-$10.0 & $-$1.3 & $-$7.2 & 37.1 & 82.1 & $-$9.5 & $-$2.8 & $-$6.8 & 8.9 & 30.8\\
G\,349.09+0.11$^1$ & 17 16 24.6 & $-$37 59 43 & $-$82.0 & $-$73.0 & $-$78.1 & 21.4 & 41.9 & $-$81.9 & $-$73.3 & $-$78.1 & 15.4 & 36.3\\
G\,351.16+0.70$^1$ & 17 19 56.4 & $-$35 57 54 & $-$11.4 & $-$1.6 & $-$6.1 & 67.4 & 185.4 & $-$11.8 & $-$2.3 & $-$6.3 & 27.8 & 101.3\\
G\,351.24+0.67$^1$ & 17 20 18.0 & $-$35 54 45 & $-$7.1 & 3.2 & $-$3.5 & 13.9 & 46.0 & $-$7.0 & 1.4 & $-$3.6 & 18.3 & 48.3\\
G\,351.42+0.65$^1$ & 17 20 52.3 & $-$35 46 42 & $-$11.8 & $-$1.2 & $-$7.9 & 60.6 & 210.9 & $-$11.8 & $-$1.5 & $-$8.1 & 22.0 & 111.1\\
G\,351.63$-$1.26$^1$ & 17 29 17.9 & $-$36 40 29 & $-$16.1 & $-$8.6 & $-$12.5 & 24.7 & 44.5 & $-$17.4 & $-$9.9 & $-$12.6 &14.2 & 39.5\\
G\,351.77$-$0.54$^1$ & 17 26 42.4 & $-$36 09 14 & $-$11.4 & 4.0 & $-$2.2 & 54.3 & 160.5 & $-$11.3 & 3.6 & $-$2.4 &43.5 & 206.1\\
G\,5.89$-$0.39$^2$ & 18 00 31.0 & $-$24 03 52.4& 7.2 & 12.7 & 9.1 & 17.4 & 36.1 & 6.7 & 12.8 & 9.1 & 10.8 & 29.4 \\
G\,9.62+0.19$^2$ & 18 06 15.1 & $-$20 31 37.1& 2.2 & 7.5 & 3.8 & 7.1 & 22.5 & 2.1 & 7.4 & 3.4 & 6.3 & 23.5\\
G\,10.47+0.03$^2$ & 18 08 37.9 & $-$19 51 34.2& 61.1 & 74.6 & 68.1 & 12.3 & 79.8 & 60.2 & 73.0 & 66.0 & 7.9 & 39.9\\
G\,10.6$-$0.4$^2$ & 18 10 29.0 & $-$19 55 46.4& $-$9.1 & 2.1 & $-$5.7 & 49.1 & 106.5 & $-$9.3 & 2.2 & $-$6.6 & 9.3 & 51.1\\
GGD27$^2$ (G\,10.84$-$2.59) & 18 19 12.4 & $-$20 47 24.8& 11.1 & 25.9 & 13.4 & 39.8 & 39.2 & 11.2 & 14.5 & 13.1 & 29.1 & 27.7 & \\
G\,11.94$-$0.62$^2$ & 18 14 02.2 & $-$18 53 32.0& 32.7 & 40.6 & 38.3 & 5.7 & 23.4 & 35.1 & 39.4 & 38.1 & 3.4 & 7.6\\
G\,12.21$-$0.10$^2$ & 18 12 40.1 & $-$18 24 21.4& 18.5 & 30.5 & 23.8 & 6.6 & 43.8 & 18.2 & 29.3 & 23.7 & 6.2 & 43.8\\
G\,12.89+0.49$^2$ & 18 11 50.8 & $-$17 31 35.9& 31.2 & 36.3 & 31.5 & 10.3 & 13.3 & 31.0 & 35.6 & 31. 5 & 4.5 & 10.5 \\
Mol45$^2$ (G\,13.66$-$0.60) & 18 17 23.6 & $-$17 22 13.0& 42.6 & 53.7 & 48.7 & 30.8 & 64.1 & 43.7 & 49.6 & 48.4 & 11.7 & 28.1 & \\
Mol50$^2$ (G\,14.89$-$0.40) & 18 19 07.6 & $-$16 11 25.6& 61.4 & 64.4 & 62.2 & 24.2 & 23.8 & 61.2 & 64.4 & 62.2 & 5.3 & 6.7 & \\
G\,19.62$-$0.23$^2$ & 18 27 37.7 & $-$11 56 36.5& 36.5 & 46.3&41.3 & 9.0 & 16.0 & 37.8&45.9 &41.1 & 7.2 & 15.9 & 1\\
G\,29.96$-$0.02$^2$ & 18 46 03.1 & $-$02 39 26.2& 95.2 & 101.6 &98.0 & 3.6 & 11.8 & 95.6 & 99.5 & 97.5& 3.1&7.5 & 1\\
G\,31.41+0.31$^2$ & 18 47 34.4 & $-$01 12 48.8& 93.4 & 101.5 &98.4 & 12.4 & 47.6 & 92.3 & 102.1 &98.5 & 8.6 & 47.9 & 1\\
G\,34.26+0.15$^2$ & 18 53 17.4 & +01 15 04.6& 53.8 & 63.9 &58.0 & 23.5 & 106.3 & 53.4 & 64.0 & 59.5 & 17.8 & 99.3 & 1\\
Mol75$^2$ (G\,34.82+0.35) & 18 53 37.7 & +01 50 25.4& 56.6 & 56.8 & 56.6 & 1.8 & 0.5 & 55.9 & 56.6 & 56.3 & 1.7 & 1.2 & \\
Mol77$^2$ (G\,36.12+0.55) & 18 55 16.8 & +03 05 06.7& & & & $<$1.9 & & & & & $<$1.8 & & \\
Mol82$^2$ (G\,37.27+0.08) & 18 59 03.7 & +03 53 42.9& 78.6 & 93.9 & 92.8 & 4.0 & 8.5 & 89.4 & 92.4 & 90.6 & 3.1 & 6.2 & \\
Mol98$^2$ (G\,43.04$-$0.45) & 19 11 38.9 & +08 46 34.0& 56.0 & 59.1 & 57.4 & 4.9 & 8.7 & 55.6 & 60.5 & 57.8 & 5.7 & 14.4 & \\
G\,45.07+0.13$^2$ & 19 13 22.0 & +10 50 59.0& & & & $<$2.9 & & 56.4 & 60.6 & 60.0 & 2.5 & 4.2 \\
G\,45.47+0.07$^2$ & 19 14 25.8 & +11 09 27.4& 57.9 & 65.1 & 62.9 & 4.7 & 20.7 & 58.3 & 65.6 & 61.8 & 4.6 & 16.2\\
W51E1$^2$ (G\,49.49$-$0.39) & 19 23 44.3 & +14 30 36.7& 48.2 & 65.5 & 55.5 & 30.7 & 219.7 & 47.0 & 64.9 & 55.7 & 41.2 & 285.1 & 1\\
W51Nc$^2$ (G\,49.49$-$0.37) & 19 23 40.1 & +14 31 13.8& 47.9 & 71.7 & 59.9 & 10.5 & 95.4 & 52.8 & 66.0 & 62.4 & 3.3 & 18.3 & \\
\hline
\end{tabular}%
}
\end{table*}
\twocolumn
\subsection{37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz methanol masers}
Alongside our observations of class I 36-GHz methanol masers we were able to simultaneously observe the rarer, 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz class II methanol maser lines. Despite the 7~mm observations being motivated by the (generally) much stronger 36-GHz transition which required very short on source integration times (2mins), we were able to detect emission from a number of maser lines. In total we detect seven known 37.7-GHz masers, three known 38.3-GHz masers and two known 38.5-GHz masers \citep{Ellingsen11,Ellingsen13,Ellingsen18,Haschick89}. While these known masers account for most of our detections, we also present a further six maser candidates that are very close to the 3-$\sigma$ detection limit of the observations. While their peak flux densities are low, they all have velocities close to both the detected 36-GHz class I methanol maser emission and the velocity ranges of reported 6.7-GHz methanol maser emission \citep{GreenMMB10,CasMMB11,Green12}. The properties of the previously detected sources, together with our six maser candidates, are presented in Table~\ref{tab:7mm_meth}. Spectra for each of the listed sources are given in Fig.~\ref{fig:37_spect}.
Of the six maser candidates, three are accounted for by G\,327.29$-$0.58 which shows very weak potential emission in each of the three transitions. If these transitions were considered in isolation the `emission' would not be notable, but given the marginal detections at the same velocity in each of the transitions it is worth including in more sensitive follow-up observations. Further discussion of this source, together with the other marginal detections, is presented in Section~\ref{sect:individual}.
\begin{figure*}
\epsfig{figure=37_38_meth_det_reordered.eps}
\caption{Spectra of the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz sources detected towards class I methanol maser sources. New candidate detections are marked with a `*' following the source name.}
\label{fig:37_spect}
\end{figure*}
\onecolumn
\begin{table}
\caption{Characteristics of methanol masers detected at 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz. The first column gives the class I methanol maser source name and the next three groups of five columns give the minimum, maximum and peak velocity, the peak flux density and integrated flux density for the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions, respectively. In the case where transitions are not detected, 3-$\sigma$ detection limits are given. All new maser candidates are close to the 3-$\sigma$ detection limit and have been marked with an `*' following the peak flux density. These are discussed individually in Section~\ref{sect:individual}. References to previously detected sources are: 1: \citet{Ellingsen11}; 2: \citet{Ellingsen13}; 3: \citet{Ellingsen18}; 4: \citet{Haschick89}.} \label{tab:7mm_meth}
\resizebox{\columnwidth}{!}{
\begin{tabular}{lllllllllllllllllllllllllllll} \hline
\multicolumn{1}{l}{Source name} &\multicolumn{5}{c}{37.7GHz methanol} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{38.3-GHz methanol masers} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{38.5-GHz methanol masers} & Refs\\
{($l,b$)}& {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} & {S$_{I}$} & {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} & {S$_{I}$} & {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} & {S$_{I}$}\\
{($^{\circ}$ $^{\circ}$)} & \multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)} & (Jy) & & \multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)}& (Jy) & & \multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)}& (Jy) & \\ \hline
G\,300.97+1.15 & $-$42.5 & $-$42.0 & $-$42.5 & 2.1* & 1.0 & & & & $<$2.1 & & & & & $<$2.1 \\
G\,318.95$-$0.20 & $-$34.5 & $-$33.9 & $-$34.2 & 7.9 & 4.4 & & & & $<$2.3 & & & & & $<$2.3 & & 1,2,3\\
G\,323.74$-$0.26 & $-$52.2 & $-$49.3 & $-$51.1 & 32.4 & 24.9 & & & & $<$2.3 & & & & & $<$2.3 & & 1,2,3\\
G\,327.29$-$0.58 & $-$46.5 & $-$40.0 & $-$41.1 & 2.2* & 4.6 & $-$47.0 & $-$43.8 & $-$45.9 & 2.6* & 2.9 & $-$46.5 & $-$44.9 & $-$46.2 & 2.3* & 1.5 \\
G\,335.79+0.17 & $-$50.6 & $-$45.7 & $-$46.0 & 8.2 & 6.5 & $-$46.6 & $-$46.1 & $-$46.4 & 4.7 & 1.6 &&&&$<$2.0&& 2\\
G\,339.88$-$1.26 & $-$39.4 & $-$33.5 & $-$38.6 & 400 & 242 &&&&$<$1.9&&&&&$<$2.0&& 1,2,3\\
G\,344.23-0.57 & & & & $<$1.9& & $-$20.7 & $-$20.5 & $-$20.6 & 2.3* & 0.6 & & & & $<$2.0 \\
G\,345.01+1.79 & $-$23.3 & $-$20.7 & $-$22.0 & 291 & 186 & $-$22.9 & $-$21.2 & $-$22.1 & 44 & 30 & $-$22.8 & $-$21.2 & $-$22.3& 21.1&15.8& 1,2,3\\
G\,351.42+0.65 & $-$11.1 & $-$6.0 & $-$10.8 & 107 & 70 & $-$12.6 & $-$9.3 & $-$10.8 & 118 & 80 & $-$11.2& $-$6.3& $-$10.5 & 115.9 & 70.2& 1,2,3,4\\
G\,9.62+0.19 & $-$1.7 & 0.2 & $-$1.1 & 30 & 22 &&&&$<$2.1&&&&&$<$2.1&& 1,2,3,4\\
G\,10.6$-$0.4 & & & & $<$2.0 & & & & & $<$2.0 & & $-$6.9 & $-$6.6 & $-$6.6 & 1.3* & 0.7\\ \hline
\end{tabular}%
}
\end{table}
\twocolumn
\subsection{86.6- and 86.9-GHz methanol detections}
Towards the 94 target class I methanol maser sites we detect nine sites exhibiting 86.6- and 86.9-GHz emission. Spectra of each of these detections are presented in Fig.~\ref{fig:86_spect} and their properties are given in Table~\ref{tab:3mm_meth}. Of the nine detections, four appear to have typically thermal spectral profiles (G\,327.29$-$0.58, G\,351.77$-$0.54, G\,34.26+0.15 and W51E1), three have some indications of narrow, maser-like emission (G\,339.88$-$1.26, G\,344.23$-$0.57 and G\,351.42+0.65) and two appear to be maser emission (G\,345.01+1.79 and G\,29.96$-$0.02). As indicated in Table~\ref{tab:3mm_meth} five of these are new detections in these transitions, including one of the maser sources and two of the possible maser candidates.
Five of the nine detections also show emission (or potential emission) in one or more of the 37.7-, 38.3- or 38.5-GHz transitions. These sources are discussed further in Section~\ref{sect:individual}.
\begin{figure*}
\epsfig{figure=86p6_86p9_meth_det.eps}
\caption{Spectra of the 86.6-GHz (top) and 86.9-GHz (bottom) sources detected towards class I methanol masers.}
\label{fig:86_spect}
\end{figure*}
\begin{table*}
\caption{Detections of methanol emission at 86.6- and 86.9-GHz. The first column gives the class I methanol maser source name and the next two groups of five columns give the minimum, maximum and peak velocity, the peak flux density and integrated flux density for the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz transitions, respectively. References to previously detected sources are: 1: \citet{Ellingsen03}; 2: \citet{Cragg01}; 3: \citet{Minier02}
}
\begin{tabular}{lllllllllllllllllllllllllllll} \hline
{Source name} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{86.6-GHz methanol masers} & \multicolumn{5}{c}{86.9-GHz methanol masers} & Refs\\
{($l,b$)}& {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} & {S$_{I}$} & {V$_L$} & {V$_{H}$} & {V$_{pk}$} & {S$_{pk}$} & {S$_{I}$} \\
{($^{\circ}$ $^{\circ}$)} & \multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)} & (Jy) & (Jy $\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$) & \multicolumn{3}{c}{($\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)}& (Jy) & (Jy $\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$)\\ \hline
G\,327.29$-$0.58 & $-$47.6 & $-$43.3 & $-$45.3 & 2.2 & 3.0 & $-$47.2 & $-$43.1 & $-$46.4 & 1.8 & 3.5\\
G\,339.88$-$1.26 & $-$38.4 & $-$33.6 & $-$38.2& 1.4 & 1.5 & $-$38.2 & $-$33.9 & $-$37.7 & 2.0 & 1.4 \\
G\,344.23$-$0.57 & $-$25.1 & $-$16.4 & $-$21.8 & 2.8 & 4.2 & $-$23.3 & $-$16.8 & $-$23.2 & 2.0 & 2.7\\
G\,345.01+1.79 & $-$22.8 & $-$15.6 & $-$22.1 & 8.4 & 8.3 & $-$23.5 & $-$17.0 & $-$22.2 & 7.9 & 8.3 & 1,2 \\
G\,351.42+0.65 & $-$11.3 & $-$4.0 & $-$10.1 & 3.9 & 13.8 & $-$10.6 & $-$3.9 & $-$7.0 & 3.9 & 13.6 & 1,2\\
G\,351.77$-$0.54 & $-$7.8 & $-$1.0 & $-$4.2 & 4.4 & 14.3 & $-$7.9 & $-$1.1 & $-$7.1 & 4.2 & 15.2 & 2\\
G\,29.96$-$0.02 & 97.0 & 98.4 & 97.1 & 1.9 & 1.0 & 98.8 & 99.0 & 98.9 & 1.8 & 0.5\\
G\,34.26+0.15 & 57.0 & 61.4 & 58.6 & 2.7 & 6.7 & 56.1 & 61.2 & 59.5 & 2.6 & 7.8\\
W51E1 & 49.7 & 61.4 & 55.6 & 3.4 & 19.0 & 49.7 & 62.3 & 56.1 & 3.8 & 24.4 & 3\\ \hline
\end{tabular}\label{tab:3mm_meth}
\end{table*}
\subsection{Molecular and recombination line detections}
During our targeted methanol maser observations we were able to simultaneously observe a number of molecular and radio recombination lines. The parameters of these lines, derived from Gaussian fitting are presented in Table~\ref{tab:lines}. In the case where no emission is detected a 3-$\sigma$ detection limit is given. We only list H$^{13}$CN and H42$\alpha$ when the velocity range of the given source is included in the observations.
The detection rates of each of the lines which have a reasonably complete set of observations (i.e. the observing bandwidth accommodated the full complement of velocity ranges, so excludes H$^{13}$CN) are presented in Fig.~\ref{fig:detection}, showing that we detect HNC, HCN, HCO$^{+}$, H$^{13}$CO$^+$ and HC$_3$N towards 94.7 per cent of the methanol maser targets. SiO emission was detected towards 80.9 per cent of our target sources. CH$_3$CN was detected towards 69.1 per cent of the targets, although often not the full complement of hyperfine components, preventing us from deriving temperatures. Thermal methanol transitions 15$_3$ $\rightarrow$ 14$_4$A$^-$ and 8$_{-4}$ $\rightarrow$ 9$_{-3}$E are detected towards just 9 and 8 of the targets, respectively. One or more of the radio recombination lines were detected towards 29.8 per cent of the sample.
\begin{figure*}
\epsfig{figure=detection.eps,height=16cm,angle=270}
\caption{Detection rates (back crosses; corresponding to 100, 100, 98.9, 95.7, 94.7, 80.9, 69.1, 29.8, 9.6, 8.5\%) of the molecular and radio recombination lines observed. The detection rates of the MALT90 survey of 3246 dense clumps across the Galaxy are shown by pink open circles for comparison \citep{Rathborne16}. The MALT90 observations did not include the 88.9- (CH$_3$OH A$^-$) and 89.5-GHz (CH$_3$OH E) thermal methanol transitions so we cannot compare the detection rates for those two lines. The grey line shows what our detection rates would be at the MALT90 95 per cent completeness level \citep[T$_A^*$$>$0.4 K;][]{Rathborne16}.}
\label{fig:detection}
\end{figure*}
\subsection{Comments on individual sources}\label{sect:individual}
In this section we draw attention to notable sources, associations, marginal detections and other details that are not able to be described fully in the source tables and spectra. \\
{\em S255 (G\,192.58$-$0.04).} \citet{Kurtz04} detected 44-GHz class I methanol maser emission towards this source using the VLA. \citet{Pratap08} conducted further single-dish observations of the 44-GHz emission in this source and used their derived position for targeted 36-GHz methanol maser emission. Their position was 49 arcsec offset from the \citet{Kurtz04} position, comparable to their HPBW, likely accounting for their non-detection in the 36-GHz transition. We detected 36-GHz methanol maser emission with a peak flux density of 12~Jy at the \citet{Kurtz04} 44-GHz methanol maser position. \\
{\em G\,300.97+1.15.} Although the candidate 37.7-GHz methanol maser emission we detect towards this source is relatively weak (2.1~Jy), its velocity is coincident with the 36-GHz methanol maser emission. \citet{Ellingsen11} targeted this site for 37.7-GHz methanol maser emission previously, achieving a 3-$\sigma$ detection limit of 5.7~Jy, significantly higher than the emission detected in the current observations. \\
{\em G\,318.95$-$0.20.} We detect a 37.7-GHz methanol maser towards this site, with a similar peak flux density to previous observations \citep{Ellingsen13,Ellingsen18}. While we failed to detect any emission from the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions, \citet{Ellingsen18} report detections of these transitions with peak flux densities of 0.14 and 0.12~Jy, well below our 3-$\sigma$ detection limits.\\
{\em G\,323.74$-$0.26.} This site has been detected in the 37.7-GHz transition by \citet{Ellingsen11,Ellingsen13,Ellingsen18}, exhibiting some temporal variability between the observation epochs. The 2011 observations of \citet{Ellingsen18} found a peak flux density of 16.1~Jy, while the current observations detect emission of 32~Jy. The higher sensitivity observations of \citet{Ellingsen18} also allowed the detection of weak emission (0.28 and 0.22~Jy) in the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions.\\
{\em G\,327.29$-$0.58.} Very marginal emission is detected towards this source at 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz as well as more significant, thermal emission in the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz transitions. This is also one of the nine sources where the 88.9- and 89.5-GHz methanol transitions are detected. The fact that emission is detected in all the transitions, make the marginal emission in the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz lines believable. \\%{\color{magenta} are the 7mm lines thermal? Should We say something about that?}\\
{\em G\,335.79+0.17.} Both the 37.7- and 38.3-GHz masers we detect have been reported previously by \citet{Ellingsen13} with peak flux densities of 13.8 and 7~Jy, respectively. We detect emission with the same peak velocity ($\sim$46.1~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$) but with peak flux densities of 8.2 and 4.7~Jy, respectively. The target positions of the \citet{Ellingsen13} observations are within a couple of arcsec (so within the pointing uncertainty of the Mopra telescope) of the position we targeted so a pointing offset cannot account for the difference. \citet{Ellingsen13} commented that this source was unusual as the only source that has been found to have emission in the 38.3-GHz transition but not the 38.5-GHz transition. \\
{\em G\,339.88$-$1.26.} This site hosts the 37.7-GHz methanol maser with the highest flux density; 400~Jy in our observations. With their higher sensitivity observations, \citet{Ellingsen18} also detect emission in the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions, with peak flux densities of 0.93 and 0.69~Jy.
In the 86.6-GHz transition we detect very marginal emission which is only reportable given the presence of slightly stronger 86.9-GHz emission, together with the previously reported tentative detection made at this site by \citet{Ellingsen03}. The current observations are not of sufficient sensitivity to be able to definitively rule out that some of the emission may be arising from a maser. Further, sensitive observations will be required to confidently infer its nature. We detect no emission from the 88.9- and 89.5-GHz methanol transition. \\
{\em G\,343.12$-$0.06.} \citet{Voronkov06} conducted high spatial resolution observations of a number of class I methanol maser transitions towards this source, including the 84-GHz transition. \citet{Voronkov06} found that the 84-GHz methanol maser emission was spatially coincident with the 95-GHz transition, with some spots shown to be coincident with a molecular outflow. \\
{\em G\,344.23$-$0.57.} \citet{Voronkov14} show that the 36- and 44-GHz class I methanol maser emission is distributed right out to the FWHM of the ATCA beam at 7mm (which is comparable to the Mopra beam), meaning that some of the 84-GHz components may lie beyond the half-power points of the smaller 3mm Mopra beam. The targeted position is close to the class II methanol maser location \citep{CasMMB11} and we detect a narrow feature at the 38.3-GHz methanol transition, but no emission in either the 37.7- or the 38.5-GHz transitions. The velocity of the detected emission is at $-$20.5~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$, identical to the peak velocity of the 36-GHz transition. This velocity correspondence certainly gives credibility to the narrow emission. Even though it is unusual to see emission in the 38.3-GHz transition without corresponding 37.7 or 38.5-GHz detections, there are examples of other sources where 38.3-GHz emission is seen without accompanying 38.5-GHz emission (e.g. G\,335.79+0.17), and sources where the 37.7-GHz emission is significantly weaker than either the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions (e.g. G\,351.42+0.65).
We also detect emission from the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz transitions, which is likely to be thermal but shows some hints of narrow emission in the 86.6-GHz line. Methanol emission in the 88.9- and 89.5-GHz transitions is also detected. \\
{\em G\,345.01+1.79.} \citet{Ellingsen11} detected 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz emission towards this source, with peak flux densities of 207, 9.4 and 5.0~Jy, respectively. Their high-resolution observations showed some variation in the peak flux density in the time between the two sets of observations, with peak flux densities of 181, 9.3 and 5.9~Jy for the respective transitions. We detected peak emission of 291, 44 and 21~Jy in our current observations, indicating significant variability between the 2011 observations of \citet{Ellingsen11} and our 2018 observations.
This source also hosts one of the few known examples of 86.6- and 86.9-GHz maser emission, first detected by \citet{Cragg01} with peak flux densities of 2.8 and 4.1~Jy at a velocity of $\sim$$-$21.7~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. Further 86.6-GHz observations by \citet{Ellingsen03} revealed two spectral features with flux densities of 16.4 and 10~Jy at velocities of $-$22.0 and $-$21.2~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. In our observations we find weak emission at $-$21.2~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ of about 1.5~Jy and a main spectral feature at $-$22.1~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ of $\sim$8~Jy at the two transitions. \\
{\em G\,351.42+0.65.} This source, also known as NGC6334F, has been observed at 37.3-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz by \citet{Ellingsen11} and \citet{Ellingsen18} previously. Comparison of their peak flux densities with the current observations reveal some significant temporal variations in each of the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions (with flux densities of 70, 39 and 107~Jy for the 37.7-GH transition; 174, 126 and 117 for the 38.3-GHz transition; and 150, 151 and 116 for the 38.5-GHz transition in the \citet{Ellingsen11}, \citet{Ellingsen18} and current observations, respectively).\\
{\em G\,9.62+0.19.} This is the site of the highest peak flux density 6.7-GHz methanol maser ever detected \citep[e.g.][]{Green12,Green17}. At 36- and 84-GHz we detected almost identical emission in the two transitions, with peak flux densities of 3.8 and 3.4~Jy, respectively. At 37.7-GHz we detected emission with a peak flux density of 30~Jy, slightly higher than previous observations \citep{Ellingsen11,Ellingsen13,Ellingsen18}. Observations by \citet{Ellingsen18} revealed weak emission in the 38.3-GHz transition (0.22~Jy), but no emission in the 38.5-GHz transition. \\
{\em G\,10.6$-$0.4.} We detect very weak emission in the 38.5-GHz transition (peak flux density of 1.3~Jy) without detectable accompanying emission in either the 37.7- or 38.3-GHz transitions. The weak 38.5-GHz feature does share the same velocity of the peak feature in both the 36- and 84-GHz emission, lending some credibility to its authenticity. There are two nearby 6.7-GHz methanol maser sites \citep[both of which may be associated with the W31 region: G\,10.627$-$0.384 and G\,10.629$-$0.333;][]{GreenMMB10} with velocity ranges that overlap with the 38.5-GHz detection so it is unclear where the emission is located. This site was observed by \citet{Ellingsen11} but the emission was too weak (their rms is 1.1 Jy at 38.4-GHz) to be detected. Further, more sensitive observations would be needed to confirm this detection.\\
{\em G\,29.96$-$0.02.} We detect narrow emission in both the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz methanol transitions, making it the forth example of a maser in these transitions. The emission we detect show slightly different peak velocities at the two transitions, but the 86.6-GHz spectrum shows weak emission at the velocity of the 86.9-GHz maser peak. The peak velocity of the associated 6.7-GHz methanol maser is at 96.0~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ \citep{Breen15}, slightly blueshifted compared to the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz detections, which at a velocity of $\sim$98~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ still falls well within the overall 6.7-GHz velocity range of 93.4~ to 106.4~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$.
\section{Discussion}
\subsection{Are the detected 36- and 84-GHz sources masers?}\label{sect:masers}
Fig.~\ref{fig:84_spect} shows a number of different spectral profiles, ranging from narrow maser-like features (e.g. G\,328.21$-$0.59), to broad, thermal-like components (e.g. G\,327.39+0.20) and a combination of the two (e.g. G\,331.13$-$0.24). From our single-dish observations alone, we can not definitively confirm that all of the sources that we detect are masers (or a combination of maser and thermal) since the implied lower limits on brightness temperature do not exceed the expectations for kinetic temperatures in high-mass star formation regions, but we can make some arguments that they are likely to be based on previous observations. The bulk of the target list (71/94) has been taken from \citet{Voronkov14} sample of southern class I methanol masers at 36- and 44-GHz. These sources have all been scrutinized with interferometric observations and confirmed to host maser emission at both 36- and 44-GHz \citep[the rest of the sample are known to host maser emission at 44-GHz][]{Kurtz04}.
It is difficult to make a direct comparison of the 36-GHz spectra presented in Fig.~\ref{fig:84_spect} with those in \citet{Voronkov14} since the latter has high-resolution source maps which break the distributed maser emission into components while our spectra have blended all of the components into one single spectrum. However, comparison of some of the more ``thermal-looking'' (i.e. broader and more Gaussian-like) sources in Fig.~\ref{fig:84_spect} with the corresponding spectra in \citet{Voronkov14} show that our single-dish observations have have blended distinct maser components that are present in the higher-resolution data and that, in these sources, our flux densities are generally higher (although not by a consistent percentage). This suggests that the current single-dish spectra have additional thermal contributions that are resolved out in the interferometric observations.
\citet{Jordan17} compared the spectral profiles of 44-GHz class II methanol masers derived from the auto- and cross-correlation data from the same interferometric observations taken with the Australia Telescope Compact Array. They found that, for their 77 maser sites, there was a huge distribution in the difference between the flux density of the two spectra, ranging from very similar to sources where about $\sim$70 per cent of the flux density was resolved out in the cross-correlation data (they had baselines up to 1.5~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$).
Since it is clear that all of the 36-GHz sources in Fig.~\ref{fig:84_spect} that have been observed with interferometry (the majority) host maser emission, even those that have spectral profiles reminiscent of thermal emission in the current observations, it follows that the very similar 84-GHz spectra also contain maser emission, even in the case that they too appear to have thermal-like spectral profiles. However, comparing the 36-GHz flux densities of our current observations with those of \citet{Voronkov14}, combined with the findings of \citet{Jordan17} for 44-GHz class I methanol masers, it is also likely that in a number of cases our single-dish spectra also have contributions from thermal emission.
\subsection{Previous 84-GHz observations: detection rates and nature of the emission}
Previous targeted class I methanol maser searches by \citet{Kalenskii01} and \citet{RG18} (both with single dish telescopes) have resulted in 84-GHz detection rates of 94 and 74 per cent, respectively. The latter target list was exclusively made up of 44-GHz targets, and the former is likely to be, although the authors just state that they are class I maser targets. \citet{Kalenskii01} reported that the majority of their sources (34/48) were likely to be quasi-thermal rather than simply maser emission based on their broad line-widths, especially when compared to their 44-GHz methanol maser counterparts. The spectral resolution (100~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$) accounts for the slightly lower detection rate in \citet{RG18} and prohibits them from assessing spectral profiles or intensities.
Unlike \citet{Kalenskii01} who compared their 84-GHz spectra to the 44-GHz (7$_0$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_1$ A$^+$) transition, we find the spectral profiles for our two transitions to be remarkably similar. The 44-GHz transition is not in the same transition family as the 36- and 84-GHz transitions so is much less likely to have a similar spectral profile. Interferometric observations of 84-GHz methanol sources are very limited, but the one source in our sample that has been observed at high spatial resolution \citep{Voronkov06} was found to harbor maser emission. For these, and the reasons outlined in Section~\ref{sect:masers} we believe our sources contain maser emission, however, further high spatial resolution observations would be required to definitely understand the nature of the detected 84-GHz emission.
\subsection{Comparison of the 36- and 84-GHz spectral profiles}
Spectra of both the 36- and 84-GHz methanol maser lines are presented in Fig.~\ref{fig:84_spect} for each target, showing remarkably similar spectral profiles in the majority of cases. These 36- and 84-GHz methanol lines are the result of consecutive transitions of the same ladder, the next of which
(the 6$_{-1}$$-$5$_0$E transition at 133-GHz) has also been found to closely resemble the spectral profiles of 84-GHz emission \citep{Kalenskii01}. While it is somewhat expected for pairs of transitions to show similar spectral profiles, our own observations show that the 36- and 84-GHz pair are much more alike than other cases such as the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz transitions, which are the next in sequence in the series that produces the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz lines. In another example, \citet{McCarthy18} used their interferometric data to compare the positions and velocities of both 44- (7$_0$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_1$ A$^+$) and 95-GHz (8$_0$ $\rightarrow$ 7$_1$ A$^+$) methanol maser features. They found that 49 per cent of 95-GHz maser components had accompanying 44-GHz emission whereas we find few examples of 84-GHz emission devoid of a 36-GHz counterpart (although higher spatial resolution would be needed to confirm this). \citet{Kim2018} conducted simultaneous 44- and 95-GHz observations, detecting 44-GHz emission towards 83 sources and accompanying 95-GHz methanol maser emission towards 68 of those, also indicating a slightly less close relationship than for the 36- and 84-GHz transitions.
Fig.~\ref{fig:vel} shows a comparison of the velocity of the peak 36-GHz and 84-GHz methanol emission, revealing a tight correlation between the peak velocities of the 92 sources detected at both frequencies. Only eight sources show 36- and 84-GHz peak velocity differences of more than 2~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$, 75 show velocities within 1~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ of each other and 67 of those are within 0.5~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. The largest peak velocity difference is 5.2~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ in G\,345.42$-$0.95 which is a rare example of a source that shows no 84-GHz emission at the 36-GHz peak. Inspection of the \citet{Voronkov14} high spatial resolution data shows that the 36-GHz peak emission that we detected at $-$17.8~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ lies well beyond the HPBW of the 3mm Mopra beam so further observations would be needed to rule out 84-GHz emission at that location.
The mean and median velocity ranges are slightly higher for the 36-GHz sources compared to the 84-GHz sources - 10.1$\pm$0.8 and 9.2 compared with 7.7$\pm$0.5 and 7.1~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$, respectively. The 36-GHz velocity ranges fall between 0.2 and 48.3~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ and the 84-GHz sources between 0.6 and 34.8~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. The sources with the largest velocity ranges are G\,341.19$-$0.23 at 36-GHz and G\,328.81+0.63 at 84-GHz.
\begin{figure}
\epsfig{figure=vels.eps,height=8cm,angle=270}
\caption{Peak velocity of the 36-GHz compared to 84-GHz methanol masers. The two dashed lines show a deviation of 5~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ either side of unity.}
\label{fig:vel}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure*}
\epsfig{figure=vel_wrt_36.eps,height=8cm,angle=270}
\epsfig{figure=vel_wrt_84.eps,height=8cm,angle=270}
\caption{Box plots of the peak velocity of HC$_3$N, HNC, HCO$^+$, HCN, SiO and H$^{13}$CO$^+$ with respect to the peak velocity of the 36-GHz (left) and 84-GHz (right) emission. The vertical dashed line shows equal velocities. In each box plot, the
solid vertical black line represents the median of the data, the coloured
box represents the interquartile range (25th to the 75th percentile) and
the dashed horizontal lines (the 'whiskers') show the range from the 25th
percentile to the minimum value and the 75th percentile to the maximum
value, respectively. Values that fall more than 1.5 times the interquartile
range from either the 25th or 75th percentile are considered to be outliers
are represented by open circles.}
\label{fig:vels_thermal}
\end{figure*}
Fig.~\ref{fig:vels_thermal} shows box plots of the peak velocity of HC$_3$N, HNC, HCO$^+$, HCN, SiO and H$^{13}$CO$^+$ with respect to the peak velocity of the associated 36- and 84-GHz emission. In all cases the median velocity difference is close to zero, but it is clear that some molecules show better velocity agreement with the 36- and 84-GHz methanol masers than others. In most instances this is due to significant self-absorption in some of lines with high optical depths such as HCN, which is more often blueshifted with respect to the maser velocity, consistent with the detection of significant emission on the nearside of the source. From these comparisons it appears that the best maser velocity correspondence is with HNC, HC$_3$N and H$^{13}$CO$^+$ (the latter two are likely to be optically thin).
In an analysis of 44-GHz class I methanol masers, \citet{Jordan17} found that class I methanol masers were better indicators of systemic velocities than class II methanol masers. Comparing the peak 44-GHz methanol maser velocity to CS (1--0) they found a mean velocity difference of 0.09$\pm$0.18~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$, a median velocity difference of 0.04~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$, and a standard deviation of 1.56~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. Table~\ref{tab:vel_diff} shows the mean, median and standard deviations of the velocity of the HC$_3$N, HNC and H$^{13}$CO$^+$ peak velocities with respect to the 36- and 84-GHz methanol maser peak velocities, showing that they are comparable to that found by \citet{Jordan17} when comparing the 44-GHz peak velocities to that of CS (1--0).
\begin{table*}
\caption{Mean (with standard error), median and standard deviations of the velocity of molecular lines with respect to the 36- and 84-GHz methanol maser velocities in units of $\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$.}
\begin{tabular}{lllllllllllllllllllllllllllll} \hline
Line & \multicolumn{3}{c}{36-GHz masers} & \multicolumn{3}{c}{84-GHz masers} \\
& mean & median & s.d. & mean & median & s.d. \\ \hline
HC$_3$N & 0.22$\pm$0.16 & 0.29 & 1.46 & 0.05$\pm$0.12 & 0.2 & 1.17\\
HNC & 0.30$\pm$0.16 & 0.35 & 1.54 & 0.13$\pm$0.14 & 0.1 & 1.32\\
H$^{13}$CO$^+$ & 0.10$\pm$0.16 & 0 & 1.51 & $-$0.04$\pm$0.13 & 0 & 1.24 \\ \hline
\end{tabular}\label{tab:vel_diff}
\end{table*}
\subsection{Comparison between the 36- and 84-GHz flux densities}
The 92 36-GHz methanol maser detections range in peak flux density from 1.8 to 245~Jy (mean of 28.1, median 14.3~Jy) and the 93 84-GHz detections range in peak flux density from 1.2 to 68~Jy (mean of 13.0 and median of 8.7~Jy). The strongest 36-GHz maser is G\,335.59$-$0.29 and the strongest 84-GHz source is G\,327.29$-$0.58. A comparison between the 36- and 84-GHz peak and integrated flux densities are shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:flux}. The correlation coefficient between the peak and integrated flux densities of the two transitions are 0.52 and 0.71, indicating moderate and strong positive correlations. The fact that the integrated flux densities are more tightly correlated than the respective peak flux densities is reflected in Fig.~\ref{fig:flux} and indicates that the integrated flux densities are more robust to more extreme differences that might be seen in only a single velocity feature. The mean and median 36- to 84-GHz peak flux density ratio are 2.4 and 1.6, respectively. The 27 36-GHz methanol masers with peak flux densities that surpass 30~Jy have relatively higher 36- to 84-GHz peak flux density ratios with a mean value of 4.1 and a median of 2.4.
\begin{figure*}
\epsfig{figure=peak_flux.eps,height=8cm,angle=270}
\epsfig{figure=36_84_integrated.eps,height=8cm,angle=270}
\caption{Log-log plots of the peak (left) and integrated (right) 36- versus 84-GHz methanol maser flux density. The dashed lines show x=y. Pink stars distinguish those sources that also exhibit radio recombination lines (28/92).}
\label{fig:flux}
\end{figure*}
The average 84-GHz integrated flux density is 46.8 Jy~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ and the median is 29.4 Jy~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ compared with the 36-GHz sample which has an average of 77.0~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ Jy and median of 41.3 Jy~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. The average 36- to 84-GHz integrated flux density ratio is 2.6 and the median is 1.4. The ratio of these lines is similar to that of the 84- to 133-GHz transitions, reported by \citep{Kalenskii01} to be 1.4. Fig.~\ref{fig:int_ratio} shows the distribution of integrated flux density ratios for the full sample, along with the ratio for both 36- and 84-GHz masers that have integrated flux densities of more than 50~Jy~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. For 36-GHz masers with integrated flux densities greater than 50~Jy~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$, the mean and median ratio is 3.8 and 2.1, compared to 1.9 and 1.5 for the 84-GHz that have integrated flux densities greater than 50 Jy~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$.
There are 16 cases where the 84-GHz peak flux density surpasses that of the 36-GHz methanol maser counterpart, 15 of which also have higher integrated intensities. There are an additional eight sources that have a larger 36-GHz peak flux density but have a higher 84-GHz integrated flux density. The sources with the largest 84- to 36-GHz integrated flux density ratio is G\,301.14-0.2.
\begin{figure}
\epsfig{figure=int_ratio.eps,height=8cm,angle=270}
\caption{Box plots showing the ratio of 36- to 84-GHz integrated flux density for the full sample of 92 sources with detections at both frequencies (purple), the 24 sources with 84-GHz integrated flux densities greater than 50 Jy $\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ (pink), and the 36 sources with 36-GHz integrated flux densities greater than 50 Jy $\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ (magenta). Note that there are four sources with ratios greater than 6 (8.9, 13.7, 22.9 and 38.4), the 2 highest of which have 36-GHz integrated flux densities greater than 50 Jy $\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$. See Fig.~\ref{fig:vels_thermal} for a general explanation of box plots.}
\label{fig:int_ratio}
\end{figure}
Although the 36- and 84-GHz methanol maser transitions have similar optimal conditions \citep[e.g.][]{Leurini16}, there are conditions that favor the 36- or 84-GHz transitions differently. For example, at high densities (10$^6$ - 10$^8$ cm$^{-3}$), 36- to 84-GHz ratios close to one might be expected but lower densities (10$^3$ - 10$^6$ cm$^{-3}$) can favor the 36-GHz transition, resulting in 36- to 84-GHz ratios of $\sim$2 \citet{McEwen14}.
Fig.~\ref{fig:flux} also highlights the targets where radio recombination lines have also been detected. In previous studies, it has been suggested that other types of masers show a change in luminosity with evolution \citep[e.g.][]{Breen10} and if we consider the presence of detectable recombination line as an indication of a slightly more evolved site, Fig.~\ref{fig:flux} shows that there is no simple trend whereby the line ratio of the 36- to 84-GHz sources changes with evolution. Given that class I methanol masers trace shocks, they can be associated with multiple phases in the evolution of a young high-mass star \citep[such as outflows and expanding H{\sc ii} regions;][]{Voronkov14} it is not surprising that there is no simple evolutionary trend. Further complicating the issue is the large Mopra beam which may lead to confusion between the multiple detected lines.
\subsection{Comparison of the class I methanol masers with thermal molecular lines}
Fig.~\ref{fig:detection} shows the detection rates of the thermal molecular and recombination lines we detect (excluding H$^{13}$CN since the frequency coverage excludes the velocities of most of the targets), highlighting the high association rates of most of the observed lines with our maser-associated star formation regions. The fact that HNC, HCN and HCO$^{+}$ were all detected towards 93 of the 94 target sources very strongly indicates the presence of dense gas at the locations of all of the target class I methanol masers. In the one case where HCO$^{+}$ is not reported in Table~\ref{tab:thermal} (towards G\,335.06$-$0.43), H$^{13}$CO$^+$ was, and there are hints of some narrow emission at the right velocity of the HCO$^{+}$ spectrum, indicating that it is significantly self-absorbed.
Also present in Fig.~\ref{fig:detection} are the MALT90 detection rates of eight of our lines toward a sample of 3246 high-mass clumps \citep{Rathborne16}. While MALT90 has similarly high detection rates of HNC, HCN and HCO$^+$, there is a significant drop off in the detection rates of H$^{13}$CO$^{+}$, HC$_3$N, SiO, CH$_3$CN and radio recombination line emission. This is mostly explained by the higher sensitivity of the current observations, as can be seen by the excellent agreement between the MALT90 detection rates and our detection rates adjusted to the MALT90 95 per cent completeness level, shown by the grey crosses in Fig.~\ref{fig:detection} \citep[T$_A^*$$>$0.4 K;][]{Rathborne16}. The notable exception is HC$_3$N, which has much higher detection rates towards the class I methanol maser selected sample.
We have compared MALT90 detection rates as a function of source temperatures \citep[from][]{Guzman15} and also their MALT90-defined evolutionary categories, which indicate that, in order to account for the high HC$_3$N detection rates, the class I methanol maser targets are (in general) likely to be both protostellar and warm.
Fig.~\ref{fig:maser_integrated} shows the 36- and 84-GHz methanol maser integrated flux density plotted against the integrated HC$_3$N, HNC, HCO$^+$, HNC, SiO and H$^{13}$CO$^+$ intensities. The correlation coefficients mostly indicate moderately correlated positive relationships, suggesting that the 36- and 84-GHz sources with higher integrated flux densities are generally associated with molecular lines with higher integrated intensities. The slopes of the fitted linear relationship in each case are similar (0.41$\pm$0.06, 0.31$\pm$0.06, 0.31$\pm$0.06, 0.33$\pm$0.07, 0.56$\pm$0.07, 0.29$\pm$0.05 for the 36-GHz maser, and 0.51$\pm$0.05, 0.38$\pm$0.05, 0.37$\pm$0.07, 0.42$\pm$0.06, 0.60,$\pm$0.07 and 0.36$\pm$0.04 for the 84-GHz maser line), indicating that the integrated flux density of the maser lines scale with the overall quantity of gas. For optically thin gas, intensity scales linearly with the abundance of a given molecule, however, for the same temperature it has an exponential dependence on excitation energy. This, together with inadequate sensitivity, could account for the very low detection rate of the 88.9- (CH$_3$OH A$^-$) and 89.5-GHz (CH$_3$OH E) thermal methanol transitions. Furthermore, the spatial resolution of the current observations is insufficient to resolve the regions of gas where the masers originate, so determining the exact relationship would require higher-resolution follow up observations.
Comparison of the 44-GHz class I methanol integrated flux densities (derived from their auto-correlated data) with the integrated intensities of CS (1--0), SiO (1--0) and CH$_3$OH 1$_0$--0$_0$ A$^+$ by \citet{Jordan17} similarly found moderately correlated positive relationships (correlation coefficients of 0.41, 0.57 and 0.40, respectively) between the masers and the thermal line emission. They suggested that this could indicate that the more luminous 44-GHz methanol masers may be associated with the more massive high-mass star formation regions. Interestingly, \citet{Jordan17} find that the integrated intensity of the 44-GHz masers had a closer relationship with the integrated intensity of the SiO (1--0) emission than the other lines. In our targeted observations we find that the tightest linear relationships in Fig~\ref{fig:maser_integrated} are with HC$_3$N and SiO (2--1) which have Pearson correlation coefficients with the integrated 36-GHz methanol masers of 0.61 and 0.69, and with the integrated 84-GHz methanol masers of 0.74 and 0.73. This indicates that there is an even closer relationship between the SiO (2--1) and the 36- and 84-GHz integrated intensities than that of the 44-GHz methanol masers and SiO (1--0). The close intensity correlation between that of the collisionally excited class I methanol masers and SiO probably is a reflection of the fact that they are both tracers of shocked gas, often found in the vicinity of outflows \citep[e.g.][]{Garay02}. In the case of HC$_3$N, a hot core tracer, the positive linear correlation is likely suggesting that when there is a larger volume of hot and dense material (and so a higher HC$_3$N integrated intensity), there is also a larger volume of gas contributing to the maser emission. Alternatively, recent work by \citet{Taniguchi18} suggests that HC$_3$N can trace shocked gas so the tight correlation might also be reflecting a similar origin, as with the SiO emission.
\begin{figure*}
\epsfig{figure=maser_HC3N.eps,height=5.5cm,angle=270}
\epsfig{figure=maser_HNC.eps,height=5.5cm,angle=270}
\epsfig{figure=maser_HCO+.eps,height=5.5cm,angle=270}
\epsfig{figure=maser_HCN.eps,height=5.5cm,angle=270}
\epsfig{figure=maser_SiO.eps,height=5.5cm,angle=270}
\epsfig{figure=maser_H13CO.eps,height=5.5cm,angle=270}
\caption{36- (coloured stars) and 84-GHz (black circles) methanol maser integrated flux density versus the integrated HC$_3$N, HNC, HCO$^+$, HCN, SiO and H$^{13}$CO$^+$ intensities. The lines of best fit is given in each case by a black line for the 84-GHz maser line and a matching coloured dashed line for the 36-GHz methanol masers. The Pearson correlation coefficients between each of the thermal and the 36-GHz transition are 0.61, 0.50, 0.42, 0.45, 0.69, 0.54 and 0.74, 0.63, 0.52, 0.58, 0.73, 0.66 for the 84-GHz transition.}
\label{fig:maser_integrated}
\end{figure*}
Some molecular line ratios have been shown to change with the evolution of the associated high-mass star formation region \citep[e.g.][]{Hoq13,Sanhueza12}. \citet{Rathborne16} used the MALT90 sample to show that the HCO$^+$ to HNC and HCN to HNC integrated intensity ratios increased with evolutionary stage, agreeing with \citet{Hoq13} that this is probably a reflection of the fact that HNC is more abundant in less evolved clumps. \citet{Rathborne16} also found a similar trend in the HCO$^+$ to H$^{13}$CO$^+$ and HNC to HN$^{13}$C integrated intensity ratios and suggested that this is likely because there is either less self-absorption or a decrease in optical depth with clump evolution. The median values of our HCO$^+$ to HNC, HCN to HNC and HCO$^+$ to H$^{13}$CO$^+$ integrated line intensities are 1.3, 2.1 and 5.5, respectively. In their fig. 20, \citet{Rathborne16} show the median values for these line ratios in the categories of quiescent, protostellar and H{\sc ii} regions (since they were looking for evolutionary trends). Our median line ratios are similar to those found in the quiescent, H{\sc ii} regions and protostellar for the HCO$^+$ to HNC, HCN to HNC and HCO$^+$ to H$^{13}$CO$^+$ line ratios, respectively. This apparent discrepancy is probably a reflection of our smaller sample and the fact that median values are not a robust indicator of a distribution.
An investigation of the 36- and 84-GHz methanol maser properties with the ratios of HCO$^+$ to HNC, HCN to HNC and HCO$^+$ to H$^{13}$CO$^+$ revealed no obvious trends. Even though both our data and that from MALT90 suffer from confusion (given the large Mopra beam) it is possible that our much smaller sample prevents us from revealing a statistical change. Fig.~\ref{fig:mol_ratio} shows the HCN to HNC ratio plotted against the HCO$^+$ to H$^{13}$CO$^+$ ratio, revealing a weak positive correlation between the data points. Those targets where radio recombination lines are also detected are scattered throughout Fig.~\ref{fig:mol_ratio}, suggesting that the line ratios from our sample are not a good indication of evolution.
\begin{figure}
\epsfig{figure=mol_ratios.eps,height=8cm,angle=270}
\caption{HCN to HNC versus HCO$^+$ to H$^{13}$CO$^+$ integrated intensity ratios (black circles). Sources where radio recombination lines are also detected are plotted by pink stars. Note that the x-axis has been truncated, excluding two sources with more extreme HCN to HNC ratios.}
\label{fig:mol_ratio}
\end{figure}
Aside from the common molecular lines which were also observed by MALT90, we also observed two thermal methanol transitions at 89.5~GHz (CH$_3$OH E) and 88.9~GHz (CH$_3$OH A$^-$). Their detection rates were relatively low (as can be seen in Fig.~\ref{fig:detection}) with both transitions detected towards eight sources and a further source detected in just the 88.9~GHz transition, but with a peak T$_A^*$ of just 0.04~K, below the 3-$\sigma$ detection limit of the 89.5~GHz transition. The upper energy level is 171~K for the 89.5~GHz transition and 328~K for the 88.9~GHz transition. The ratio of the 89.5~ to 88.9~GHz line integrated intensity falls between 0.76 to 1.3 for seven of the eight sources and is 7.1 for G\,327.29$-$0.58, the final source with detections in both transitions. For optically thin methanol gas in LTE these ratios imply rotational temperatures of $\sim$200~K for most of the sources, and $\sim$70~K for G\,327.29$-$0.58. Of the nine sources detected at either transition, five are associated with radio recombination lines.
\subsection{Comparison of the class I methanol masers with recombination lines}
Compared to the MALT90 sample of dense clumps, we detected a larger fraction of sources associated with radio recombination lines (29.8 compared with 0.6 per cent) towards our sample of class I methanol masers. This difference can be fully explained by the fact that our data is not only more sensitive to H41$\alpha$ emission (the recombination line included in the MALT90 observations) but that we also observe a number of 7mm recombination lines (see Table~\ref{tab:lines}). In fact, if we consider only the H41$\alpha$ line and restrict our detection limit to the MALT90 95~per cent completeness level for peak T$_A^*$, as shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:detection}, the detection limits are consistent, indicating that there is no obvious bias towards the class I methanol maser targets being more evolved than a large fraction of the MALT90 sample.
Of the 28 sites of radio recombination line emission that we detect, many are associated with previously identified hyper and ultracompact H{\sc ii} regions \citep[e.g.][]{Murphy10,Sewilo04,MH2003}. \citet{Murphy10} summerised the
quantitative criteria for the discrimination between hyper and ultracompact H{\sc ii} regions from the literature. They suggest that the consensus is that recombination line FWHM linewidths less than 40~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ are a good indicator of ultracompact H{\sc ii} regions, while FWHM linewidths greater than 40~$\mbox{km~s}^{-1}$ may suggest the presence of an hypercompact H{\sc ii} region. Using this criterion, only three (G\,301.14-0.23, G\,5.89$-$0.39 and G\,34.26+0.15) of the 28 recombination lines are associated with hypercompact H{\sc ii} regions, and the bulk of the detections (25/28) are associated with ultracompact H{\sc ii} regions
\subsection{37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz sources}
In the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz class II methanol maser transitions, we detected seven, three and two known sources, respectively \citep{Ellingsen11,Ellingsen13,Ellingsen18,Haschick89} plus five candidate lines towards four additional sources. As discussed in Section~\ref{sect:individual}, the velocities of the candidate sources often show corresponding emission in the 36-GHz transition, lending some credibility to their authenticity. \citet{Ellingsen18} compared the velocities of 37.7-GHz maser emission with that of the associated 6.7-GHz emission, finding that in the majority of cases, the 37.7-GHz emission was blueshifted with respect to the majority of the accompanying 6.7-GHz emission. Of the four targets where we detect maser candidates in the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz lines, all of them have velocities that are blueshifted with respect to the 6.7-GHz methanol maser peak \citep[reported in the MMB survey][]{GreenMMB10,CasMMB11,Green12}.
\citet{Ellingsen13} looked at the temporal variability of 37.7-GHz methanol masers, comparing their 2012 data to data taken in 2009 by \citet{Ellingsen11}. Over the three year period they found that the largest changes in flux density was at the 40 per cent level. We have observed seven 37.7-GHz methanol masers that were included in \citet{Ellingsen13} observation and find that, in the 6 years between the observations, five of the sources have shown variations at the 15 - 41 per cent level (we see both increases and reductions at this level so it is not a calibration problem). The other two sources, G\,323.74$-$0.26 and G\,351.42+0.65, have increased by 122 per cent and decreased by 52 per cent in that time.
We further find that 37.7-GHz sources with counterparts at 38.3-GHz and 38.5-GHz do not necessarily show similar level of variability in all of the detected transitions. In the case of G\,335.79+0.17, the 38.3-GHz transition has shown a reduction in peak flux density at approximately the same levels as for the 37.7-GHz transition (41 and 33 per cent, respectively). However, for G\,345.01+1.79 and G\,351.42+0.65, where we detect emission in all three of the lines we see an increase of 41, 219 and 198 per cent in G\,345.01+1.79 and an increase of 52 and decrease of 31 and 22 per cent in G\,351.42+0.65 for the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions.
\subsection{86.6- and 86.9-GHz sources}
To date only three sites of 86.6- and 86.9-GHz maser emission have ever been reported \citep[towards G\,345.010+1.792, W3(OH) and W51-IRS1][]{Ellingsen03,Cragg01,Sutton01,Minier02}. Although the searches that uncovered these sources were not particularly extensive (\citet{Ellingsen03} targeted 18 sources, \citet{Cragg01} targeted 17 sources, \citet{Minier02} targeted 23 sources and \citet{Sutton01} only targeted W3(OH)) masers at 86- and 86.9-GHz are expected to be rare given that they are the next transitions up the ladder from the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions (the 38-GHz transitions are 6$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 5$_3$A$^-$ and 6$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 5$_3$A$^+$ and the 86-GHz transitions are 7$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_3$A$^-$ and 7$_2$ $\rightarrow$ 6$_3$A$^+$). Alongside the maser detections, these searches have uncovered a handful of thermal sources detected at either of these transitions \citep[Orion KL, NGC6334F, G351.77-0.54, W51E2 and NGC 7538-IRS1][]{Ellingsen03,Cragg01,Minier02}. \citet{Ellingsen03} also report the detection of marginal detections towards G\,323.740$-$0.263 and G\,339.884$-$1.259.
Our observations have uncovered nine detections of these transitions, four of which show no deviation from a typically thermal profile shape (G\,327.29$-$0.58, G\,351.77$-$0.54, G\,34.26+0.15, W51E1). A further three show possible narrow spectral features in one of the transitions (G\,339.88$-$1.26, G\,344.23$-$0.57, G\,351.42+0.65) but the noise levels in the current observations make it difficult to confirm if these are masers. We note that one of these (G\,351.42+0.65 or NGC6334F) has also been reported as a thermal source previously. The detection of G\,339.88$-$1.26 is very marginal at 86.6-GHz, but more convincing in the 86.9-GHz spectrum, allowing us to confirm the marginal detection from \citet{Ellingsen03}.
We have detected two sources with convincing narrow features - G\,345.01+1.79 and G\,29.96$-$0.02, the latter of which is a new detection. Interestingly, G\,29.96$-$0.02 shows a different dominant spectral feature at the two frequencies, although a hint of emission is seen in the 86.6-GHz spectrum at the velocity of the 86.9-GHz detection. Higher signal-to-noise observations will be needed in order to show if the spectra are genuinely different.
Interestingly, of the nine sources detected in the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz methanol transitions, six were also detected in the 89.5 and 88.9 GHz lines. The three that have no associated 89.5 and 88.9 GHz emission are the most convincing maser detections - G\,339.88$-$1.26, G\,345.01+0.1.79 and G\,29.96$-$0.02. Five of the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz detections also show detections in one or more of the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz methanol transitions. Since the 86.6- and 86.9-GHz are the next transitions up the ladder from the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions, we might expect that masers seen in the 38.3- and 38.5-GHz lines are good targets for 86.6- and 86.9-GHz masers.
\section{Summary}
We have surveyed a sample of 94 class I methanol maser sources \citep{Voronkov14,Kurtz04} for the little studied 84-GHz class I methanol maser transition. We also conducted near-simultaneous observations of the 36-GHz class I methanol maser transition to allow meaningful comparison of the two transitions and to derive line ratios. Alongside these observations, the flexibility of the Mopra spectrometer allowed us to concurrently search the sources for the rarer class II methanol maser transitions at 37.7-, 38.3-, 38.5-, 86.6- and 86.9-GHz as well as a number of thermal molecular and radio recombination lines.
Towards the 94 class I methanol maser targets, we detected 84-GHz emission in 93 (all sources except Mol77) sources and accompanying 36-GHz emission towards 92 sources (all sources except Mol77 and G\,45.07+0.13). The spectral profiles of the two transitions are strikingly similar and we use this as the basis for an argument that our sources are likely to contain maser emission even in the case where the spectra are reminiscent of more typically thermal line profiles (since we know the 36-GHz transition shows maser emission from previous interferometric observations). The mean and median peak flux density 36- to 84-GHz ratio are 2.4 and 1.6, similar to the integrated flux density mean and median ratios of 2.6 and 1.4. We further find that the stronger 36-GHz masers have higher 36- to 84-GHz ratios than the strong 84-GHz sources (as well as the full sample of sources).
We detect one new source of 86.6- and 86.9-GHz methanol maser emission, adding to the small number of masers that have been found in this transition. We detect a further known maser at 86.6- and 86.9-GHz, three sources that may contain narrow maser features and four sources that show no deviation from a thermal profile. In the 37.7-, 38.3- and 38.5-GHz transitions we detect emission (in one or more of the lines) from seven known sources and present four further maser candidates that require followup observations with higher sensitivity.
Comparison of the detection rates of thermal molecular lines toward our class I methanol masers with those found towards dense dust clumps across the Galaxy in the MALT90 shows almost identical rates in HNC, HCN, HCO$^+$, H$^{13}$CO$^+$, SiO, CH$_3$CN and the H41$\alpha$ recombination line (once the respective detection limits are accounted for). We, however, detect much higher rates of HC$_3$N, which we believe indicates that a larger proportion of the class I maser target list are warm protostellar sources compared to the MALT90 sample.
We find a close correspondence between the peak velocity of the class I maser sources and the thermal line counterparts, in particular with HNC, HCO$^+$, H$^{13}$CO$^+$, supporting a result found previously for 44-GHz methanol masers, that class I methanol masers are generally excellent tracers of systemic velocities.
There is a positive correlation between the 36- and 84-GHz integrated flux densities and integrated intensities of the detected thermal lines. Given the similarity of the slopes in each of the relationships, we suggest that this indicates that the maser integrated flux density is a reflection of the available quantity of molecular gas.
\section*{Acknowledgments}
The Mopra radio telescope is part of the Australia Telescope National Facility. Operations support was provided by the University of New South Wales, the University of Adelaide, The University of Sydney, The University of Newcastle, Nagoya University, NASA Goddard Space Flight Centre and Western Sydney University. This research has made use of: NASA's Astrophysics
Data System Abstract Service; and the SIMBAD data base, operated at CDS, Strasbourg,
France. J.R.D. acknowledges the support of an Australian Research Council (ARC) DECRA Fellowship (project number DE170101086). S.P.E. acknowledges the support of ARC Discovery Project (project number DP180101061).
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 2,614 |
package org.jabref.logic.bibtex;
import java.util.Collections;
import org.jabref.logic.util.OS;
import org.jabref.model.entry.field.StandardField;
import org.jabref.model.entry.field.UnknownField;
import org.junit.jupiter.api.BeforeEach;
import org.junit.jupiter.api.Test;
import org.mockito.Answers;
import static org.junit.jupiter.api.Assertions.assertEquals;
import static org.junit.jupiter.api.Assertions.assertThrows;
import static org.mockito.Mockito.mock;
public class LatexFieldFormatterTests {
private LatexFieldFormatter formatter;
@BeforeEach
public void setUp() {
this.formatter = new LatexFieldFormatter(mock(LatexFieldFormatterPreferences.class, Answers.RETURNS_DEEP_STUBS));
}
@Test
public void normalizeNewlineInAbstractField() throws Exception {
String text = "lorem" + OS.NEWLINE + " ipsum lorem ipsum\nlorem ipsum \rlorem ipsum\r\ntest";
String expected = "{" + "lorem" + OS.NEWLINE + " ipsum lorem ipsum" + OS.NEWLINE
+ "lorem ipsum "
+ OS.NEWLINE + "lorem ipsum"
+ OS.NEWLINE + "test" + "}";
String result = formatter.format(text, StandardField.ABSTRACT);
assertEquals(expected, result);
}
@Test
public void newlineAtEndOfAbstractFieldIsDeleted() throws Exception {
String text = "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum" + OS.NEWLINE + "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum";
String result = formatter.format(text + OS.NEWLINE, StandardField.ABSTRACT);
String expected = "{" + text + "}";
assertEquals(expected, result);
}
@Test
public void preserveNewlineInAbstractField() throws Exception {
String text = "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum" + OS.NEWLINE + "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum";
String result = formatter.format(text, StandardField.ABSTRACT);
String expected = "{" + text + "}";
assertEquals(expected, result);
}
@Test
public void preserveMultipleNewlinesInAbstractField() throws Exception {
String text = "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum" + OS.NEWLINE + OS.NEWLINE + "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum";
String result = formatter.format(text, StandardField.ABSTRACT);
String expected = "{" + text + "}";
assertEquals(expected, result);
}
@Test
public void preserveNewlineInReviewField() throws Exception {
String text = "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum" + OS.NEWLINE + "lorem ipsum lorem ipsum";
String result = formatter.format(text, StandardField.REVIEW);
String expected = "{" + text + "}";
assertEquals(expected, result);
}
@Test
public void removeWhitespaceFromNonMultiLineFields() throws Exception {
String original = "I\nshould\nnot\ninclude\nadditional\nwhitespaces \nor\n\ttabs.";
String expected = "{I should not include additional whitespaces or tabs.}";
String title = formatter.format(original, StandardField.TITLE);
String any = formatter.format(original, new UnknownField("anyotherfield"));
assertEquals(expected, title);
assertEquals(expected, any);
}
@Test
public void reportUnbalancedBracing() throws Exception {
String unbalanced = "{";
assertThrows(InvalidFieldValueException.class, () -> formatter.format(unbalanced, new UnknownField("anyfield")));
}
@Test
public void reportUnbalancedBracingWithEscapedBraces() throws Exception {
String unbalanced = "{\\}";
assertThrows(InvalidFieldValueException.class, () -> formatter.format(unbalanced, new UnknownField("anyfield")));
}
@Test
public void tolerateBalancedBrace() throws Exception {
String text = "Incorporating evolutionary {Measures into Conservation Prioritization}";
assertEquals("{" + text + "}", formatter.format(text, new UnknownField("anyfield")));
}
@Test
public void tolerateEscapeCharacters() throws Exception {
String text = "Incorporating {\\O}evolutionary {Measures into Conservation Prioritization}";
assertEquals("{" + text + "}", formatter.format(text, new UnknownField("anyfield")));
}
@Test
public void hashEnclosedWordsGetRealStringsInMonthField() throws Exception {
String text = "#jan# - #feb#";
assertEquals("jan #{ - } # feb", formatter.format(text, StandardField.MONTH));
}
@Test
public void hashEnclosedWordsGetRealStringsInMonthFieldBecauseMonthIsStandardField() throws Exception {
LatexFieldFormatterPreferences latexFieldFormatterPreferences = new LatexFieldFormatterPreferences(
false, Collections.emptyList(), new FieldContentParserPreferences());
LatexFieldFormatter formatter = new LatexFieldFormatter(latexFieldFormatterPreferences);
String text = "#jan# - #feb#";
assertEquals("jan #{ - } # feb", formatter.format(text, StandardField.MONTH));
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 1,833 |
{"url":"https:\/\/byjus.com\/question-answer\/which-of-the-following-years-is-not-a-leap-years-160010008001200\/","text":"Question\n\n# Which of the following years is not a leap years?\n\nA\n1600\nB\n1000\nC\n800\nD\n1200\n\nSolution\n\n## The correct option is B 1000Rules for finding a leap year-1. Every year divisible by $$4$$ is a leap year, if it is not a century.2. Every $$4^{th}$$ century is a leap year, but no other century is a leap year.Hence, $$800,1200$$ and $$1600$$ but $$1000$$ is not a leap year.Logical Reasoning\n\nSuggest Corrections\n\n0\n\nSimilar questions\nView More\n\nPeople also searched for\nView More","date":"2022-01-21 00:07:42","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.3925117254257202, \"perplexity\": 1845.429116693056}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": false}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2022-05\/segments\/1642320302706.62\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20220120220649-20220121010649-00573.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
The hybrid breed responds well to positive reinforcement and consistency. This breed, incidentally, makes for great service dogs as well. However, it is important to remember, if the temperatures start to rise you will need to trim down their coats to help them stay cool. Their coats do grow constantly, so you want to make sure that they stay clipped and combed to prevent knotting. They enjoy human companionship, tend to get along with other animals and also are very intelligent. They are usually full grown at 1 year old and they have a shaggy beard on their face, and at times can look a little disheveled.
Hips HD OFA or Pennhip or OVC2. eyes CERF Required Yearly 3. Hearts. tested and certified by OFA4. Elbows OFATests required for the Breeding of Standard Poodles1. Hips HD OFA or Pennhip or OVC2. elbows OFA3. Eyes CERF Required Yearly4. Von Willebrands vWd bleeding disorder DNA or Blood screen5. Sebaceous Adenitis SA Skin Disorder Thyroid malfunctions Not Required but a highly recommended test for all breeding dogs. Tests required for breeding of Miniature and Toy Poodles.
Hindquarters should be of medium angulation with short strong hocks. Top line should remain level with strong loin and level croup. They are a galloping dog therefore flanks should rise up from a brisket set just below the elbows, but should not be excessively deep. Ribs should be well sprung but not barreled. Overall they should appear square, balanced, athletic with good muscling. MOVEMENT When trotting should be purposeful, strong and elastic with good reach and drive, giving the appearance of "going somewhere". When relaxed, happy or at play they will prance and skim the ground lightly. Excessive tightness in the hip will produce a stilted action and is considered a fault. Top line should remain level with strong loin and croup. Tail Is relatively high and is preferred to be carried saber. It is allowed to be carried below the top line or gaily above. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 3,381 |
TO MARK the re-opening of our Barry Island store, we are announcing a sponsorship deal with local running club, Penarth and Dinas Runners, for their 2017 Porthkerry 5 Multi-Terrain Race.
Cadwaladers will provide sponsorship of the 300 race t-shirts and goody bags, which will enable the organisers to provide the same top-rated runner experience as last year's sell-out race.
Our Barry Island cafe recently re-opened for business following extensive refurbishment. The beach front cafe has been redesigned around the needs of its customers, to allow them to relax and enjoy their amazing coffee and ice creams as they watch the world go by.
The newly renamed Cadwaladers Porthkerry 5 MT Race 2017 will take place at 10am on Sunday, May 7, at Porthkerry Country Park in Barry.
As part of their commitment to employee health and well-being, a team of runners from Cadwaladers will train for and take part in the race. They will be led by operations manager, Paul Morton, who's also an active member of Penarth and Dinas Runners.
Yvonne Williams, chair of Penarth and Dinas Runners' said: "We are very grateful to Cadwaladers for their sponsorship of our 2017 Porthkerry 5 MT Race.
"It's a very popular event on the South Wales running calendar and in 2015 hosted the prestigious Welsh Short Course Trail Championship.
"Cadwaladers' support will allow us to continue to provide a great value race for runners and help raise money for the club's nominated charity.
Paul Morton, Cadwaladers operations manager said: "Cadwaladers is very proud to be associated with such a prestigious event in the heart of the Vale.
"We are really looking forward to being involved with what is sure to be another brilliant race.
"Cadwaladers is committed to helping local causes and charities and our support of this race really enables us to do that.
"Thank you to our preferred water supplier, Princes Gate who have kindly offered to supply the bottled water for the runners.
All 300 Porthkerry 5 MT race places sold out in 2016, so early entry is advised when registration opens on February 24 at 6pm. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 3,281 |
Q: sp_BlitzIndex "Missing Index" section has columns but no values/results when I run sp_BlitzIndex @Version = '7.5', @VersionDate = '20190427', on my Microsoft SQL Server 2017 v14.0.3048.4, I have some tables where the missing indexes reports one column Finding with the value "No Missing Indexes". This is perfect.
But in many cases I have what appears to be result columns with no values. It looks like this:
Finding | URL | Estimated Benefit | Missing Index Request | Estimated Impact | Create TSQL
And there is nothing in the rows. My fear is that I actually have some missing indexes but some wire is crossed and the output isn't being produced. I have been using this tool for years and find it invaluable, so I want to be certain I am actually seeing the correct results.
A: That just means SQL Server's not recommending indexes for that table, or the index recommendations aren't a significant benefit. We filter out trivially insignificant missing indexes, like those with a very low benefit that have only been run a few times.
If you'd like to try other scripts, you can use any number of them.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 9,745 |
\section{Introduction}
Recent trapping of doubly ionized Yb \cite{schauer} can enhance the possibility of the trapping of doubly ionized In using the same experimental mechanism. Trapped $^{113}$Cd II is known as an ideal candidate for the frequency standard and quantum computing \cite{jelenkovic,dixit}. Being in the same Ag-isoelectronic sequence, $^{113, 115, 117}$In III is further interesting from the point of view due to its expected large hyperfine splitting like $^{113}$Cd$^+$ as it is next to the latter ion in this sequence, has nuclear $g$-factor close to that of $^{113}$Cd and has large nuclear spin (I=4.5 for all these In isotopes, but I=1.5 for $^{113}$Cd). The discrepancies between experimental \cite{majumder,eck,Mann} and theoretical \cite{Chaudhuri,safronovaano} estimations of
magnetic dipole hyperfine constants of $^{115}$In I indicate the possibility of small variation of nuclear moment obtained from Raghavan et al.\cite{raghavan}. This is, however, very important for the nuclear theory and physics where precise nuclear parameters are important, like PNC estimations \cite{Fortson,Marie,gustavsson}. The study of nuclear magnetization distribution on the indium isotopes has been an interesting topic from the point of its "puzzling giant hyperfine anomaly"\cite{niesen, persson, LUTZ}. The magnetic property can be estimated from their hyperfine anomalies (Bohr-Weisskopf effect only\cite{BW,butt}). These are calculated using accurate estimations of the hyperfine splitting of states. Study of this anomaly over different level of atomic ionizations provides the ionization effect on the nucleus. The results obtained should provide a useful calibration for nuclear theory
as well as they reduce limitations of precise measurement of
fundamental constants, like parity and/or time violation constants,
due to the uncertainty of neutron distribution \cite{gustavsson, stroke}.
Strong resonance lines from In III are required in order to
provide the most important data for abundance analysis in various
astronomical systems as well as laboratory plasmas
\cite{TF,ZM,CR,vitas}. Explanation of the observed large discrepancies between experimental\cite{LI,DJ} and theoretical\cite{Dimitrijevic} line broadening results in the optical spectrum \cite{LI} of In III requires precise estimations of allowed transitions. Also, the forbidden transitions are the effective decay mechanism in low density hot
plasmas where the possibility of collisional de-excitation is low
\cite{ali}. There have been many experimental and theoretical
endeavor of estimating the strengths of some ultraviolet or
visible lines of this ion over the years
\cite{ND,SK,TA,SV,GLO,cheng,martin,XB}. However, due to the large
discrepancies among the results, it is required to have
correlation exhaustive relativistic ab initio calculations. Also, we augment
the database with lifetime of few other low lying
states. Some of these are estimated for the first time in the literature
to our knowledge.
Here, we have employed highly correlated relativistic
coupled-cluster (RCC) method based on the Dirac-Coulomb-Gaunt
Hamiltonian to generate the ground and different excited states
\cite{dutta} of In III. With respect to the other well known theories,
the coupled cluster theory has the potential of taking electron
correlation in an exhaustive way \cite{dixit,Dutta}. The various
kind of many body effects like core correlation, core polarization
and pair correlation are also studied in the framework of the present RCC theory in the calculations of the hyperfine constants.
\section{Theory}
In order to obtain a correlated wave-function $\vert\Psi_v\rangle$ corresponding to a
single valence atomic state having valence electron in `$v$'th orbital,
one need to solve the corresponding energy eigen-value equation where Dirac-Coulomb-Gaunt Hamiltonian is considered\cite{dutta}.
In the coupled-cluster theory, one can write this correlated wave-function
as \cite{dixit,Dutta,Bishop,Lindgren,Sahoo},
\begin{equation}\label{1}
\vert\Psi_{v}\rangle=e^{T}\{1+S_{v}\}\vert\Phi_{v}\rangle
\end{equation}
Here, $|\Phi_{v}\rangle$ is the Dirac-Fock reference state wavefunction which is generated in the $V^{N-1}$ potential following Koopman's theorem \cite{szabo}. $T$ is the closed-shell cluster operator which takes all the single, double, and so on excitations from the core orbitals \cite{Dutta}. $S_v$ is the open-shell cluster operator which behaves as $T$ but excites atleast one electron from the valence `$v$'\cite{Dutta}.
The general matrix element of an operator $\hat{O}$ can be
conveniently expressed with normalization as,
\begin{equation}\label{2}
O_{fi} = \frac{\langle\Psi_{f}\vert \widehat{O}\vert
\Psi_{i}\rangle}{\sqrt{ \langle \Psi_{f}\vert \Psi_{f}\rangle
\langle \Psi_{i}\vert \Psi_{i} \rangle} }
\end{equation}
The single particle reduced matrix elements of the electric dipole
($E1$), electric quadrupole ($E2$), magnetic dipole ($M1$)
transition operators and the operators associated with the
magnetic dipole ($A$) and electric quadrupole hyperfine
($B$) constants are given in Ref. \cite{sourav}.
The hyperfine anomaly due to Bohr–Weisskopf effect for any particular state is defined by the following expression \cite{Lutz,persson}
\begin{equation}\label{3}
\Delta\%=\frac{A_{1}g_{2}-A_{2}g_{1}}{A_{2}g_{1}}\times 100
\end{equation}
where, $A_1$, $A_2$ are the hyperfine constants and $g_1$, $g_2$ are the corresponding $g$-factors of the nuclei, of the isotopes of concern.
\section{Results and Discussions}
The procedure of generating the DF orbital bases for the correlated RCC wavefunctions used in the present calculations has been discussed earlier \cite{sourav, Dutta2013}. In the present work, the percentage value in the correlation contribution (RCC result $-$ DF result) is defined with respect to the DF result. In Table~\ref{Table:I}, we represent ionisation potentials (IPs) of the ground
state and few low lying excited states in cm$^{-1}$. Our RCC
results are compared with the experimental values obtained from
the National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST) \cite{NI}. The maximum difference among these values
occurs in the case of $4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ state, which is about 0.44 $\%$.
In Table~\ref{Table:II}, we present the $E1$ transition amplitudes in the
length gauge form at the DF and the RCC levels. The correlation
contributions (Corr) are presented in the same table. The
wavelengths of these transitions which are calculated from the IPs
of NIST are quoted at the second column of this table. The correlation effect
decreases the transition amplitudes in all the cases except the
transition $5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ $\rightarrow$ $ 6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$. We get correlation contribution is much larger than DF values for $5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ $\rightarrow$ $ 6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2,3/2}$ transitions unlike to the other cases\cite{martin}. These have been also observed in velocity gauge calculations. The
two resonance transitions $5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ $\rightarrow$ $5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2,3/2}$
are about -17.2 $\%$ to -17.5 $\%$ correlated and it has been estimated that most of their
correlations come from the core polarization effect. The core
polarization is also found to be the dominating mechanism in the transitions
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ $\rightarrow$ $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2,5/2}$ and
$5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ $\rightarrow$ $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ where total correlation
contributions are about -11.8 $\%$ to -12.2 $\%$. The oscillator
strengths of $E1$ transitions calculated from the corresponding
transition amplitudes and quoted wavelengths are also presented in Table~\ref{Table:II}. These transitions are astrophysically important \cite{ZM} and fall in the visible and ultraviolet regions of
electromagnetic spectrum.
Table II also shows the discrepancies among various theoretical and experimental results. Our highly correlated {\it ab initio} calculations show excellent agreement with the model potential \cite{JM} and RMBPT calculations \cite{SV}. Here, the experimental results are
evaluated from the corresponding lifetime measurements
\cite{TA,WA} and NIST wavelengths \cite{NI}. Considerable differences are noted
from the experimentally measured values with all the theoretical
results for the $5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ and
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}\rightarrow 6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ transitions. Therefore,
more precise experiments are desirable for these cases. Also recent experiment \cite{LI} claims accurate estimations of absorption coefficients of 298.28, 300.808 and 524.877 nm transition lines where our calculated amplitudes can be used.
Though electromagnetically forbidden transitions do not contribute
significantly to the lifetimes of the excited states here, they
are important in different areas of physics \cite{sourav}.
There has been calculation of magnetic dipole ($M1$) transition
rate between the fine-structure states of $4f$ $^{2}F$ using
multi-configuration Dirac-Fock (MCDF) method \cite{XB}. Our calculated
fine-structure splitting (-23 cm$^{-1}$) of this term is
much closure to the central experimental value (8 cm$^{-1}$)\cite{NI}
compare to the MCDF calculation (-71 cm$^{-1}$). The latter calculation
estimated comparatively large correlation contribution as the DF
value is -24 cm$^{-1}$. There is a discrepancy between the MCDF and
our calculations of transition amplitude between
these fine structure states. where former is evaluated from their calculated transition probability and wavelength. Most probably, the discrepancy
can be avoided with proper choice of initial and final states and use of NIST wavelength\cite{NI}.
The $E2$ and $M1$ transition amplitudes along with their
corresponding NIST wavelengths ($\lambda$-values) are presented in the
Table~\ref{Table:III}. The correlation contributions (corr)
to all the $E2$ transitions reduce the corresponding DF-values and
vary from -4.9 $\%$ to -9.3 $\%$. The $5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2} \rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2,5/2}$ transitions are maximally correlated by -9.2 $\%$ to -9.3 $\%$ with respect to all others E2 transitions presented here. It has been observed (see Fig.~\ref{Fig:1})that M1 transition probabilities are stronger than E2 probabilities for transition among fine
structure states.
In Table~\ref{Table:IV}, we compare our calculated life times for some low
lying states with the other theoretically calculated and
experimentally measured values. Lifetimes of few states are presented
in this table for the first time in the literature to our
knowledge. The experimental wavelengths from the NIST are used in our calculations.
The beam foil experiment of Andersen et al.\cite{TA} and the relativistic Hartree Fock
(RHF) calculation \cite{cheng} of Cheng et at. underestimate the
lifetime of the $5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ state. Our estimated life times are in
good agreement with the measured values of Ansbacher et al.
\cite{WA} and calculated results as obtained using the RMBPT
method \cite{SV}, except in the case of $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ state. The
lifetime of the $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ state measured by the beam foil
experiment \cite{WA} and calculated by the RMBPT method are $0.75\pm
0.06$ and $0.67$ nanosecond, respectively. These lifetimes are
based only on the transition $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2} \rightarrow
5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$. Whereas, considering both the channels of
emissions $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2} \rightarrow 5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ and
$5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2} \rightarrow 5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$, our RCC calculations
yields this lifetime $0.53 \times 10^{-9}$ sec. Similar arguments
also hold in the comparison of the lifetimes of the
$4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ state, where our calculations considered all the
channels of emissions compare to the other results which account
emission through only the dominating channel.
However, for $5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$ state there is only one dominating channel $5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2} \rightarrow 5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ and we, therefore, find good agreement with experiment\cite{WA}. Anderson et al. also overestimates the lifetime of this state. The corrections due to the
$E2$ and/or $M1$ transitions in the calculations of all the lifetime values come at or
beyond the four decimal place in the unit of nanosecond. This may be important for ultra-fast spectroscopy\cite{Sancho}.
The accurate estimation of the large hyperfine splitting of the ground
state of $^{115}$In III is one of the most important objectives of this work. The magnetic dipole and the electric quadrupole moments of the stable $^{115}$In
isotope are considered $5.5408(2)$ nuclear magnetons and $+0.810$ barns, respectively from Ref.
\cite{raghavan} with nuclear spin-parity $9/2^{+}$. In
Table~\ref{Table:V}, the hyperfine $A$-constants of the ground and few excited
states are presented at the DF and RCC levels along with the
contributions of different correlation terms. In this table,
$\overline{d}=e^{T^{\dag}}de^{T}$ represents the sum of DF ($d$)
and core correlation contribution. According to the RCC
theory, the lowest order pair correlation and core polarization effects arise
from the terms $\overline{d}S_{1}$+c (indicated by $\overline{d}S_{1}$ in the table) and $\overline{d}S_{2}$+c (indicated by $\overline{d}S_{2}$ in the table),
respectively, where c stands for the conjugate term \cite{dutta}.
These effects are presented in Table~\ref{Table:V} along with some significantly
contributing terms like $S_{1}^{\dag}\overline {d}S_{1}$,
$S_{1}^{\dag}\overline{d}S_{2}$+c (indicated by $S_{1}^{\dag}\overline{d}S_{2}$ in the table) and $S_{2}^{\dag}\overline{d}S_{2}$. Here, 'Norm' represents the
normalization correction\cite{gopal}. The largest
correlation contributions come from the pair correlation terms for
the $5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$, $5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2,3/2}$ and $6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$
states. Whereas, the core polarization contributes the most to the
$6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$, $7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$, $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2,5/2}$,
$6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ and $4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2,7/2}$ states. These are
graphically presented in Fig.~\ref{Fig:2}. It is also clear from the Fig.~\ref{Fig:2} that the pair correlation contributions are decreasing to the outer orbitals along the same relativistic symmetry, which is expected\cite{Owusu}. The percentage of pair correlation contributes almost identically for the fine-structure states of any term has also been observed.
$4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ and $4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$ states show large percentage of negative core
polarization contributions. These large negative contributions
dominantly arise from the exchange part of these correlation terms.
The $A$-constants of the low-lying bound $ns$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$
states fall in the GHz range and their high values are expected due
to the large overlap of their wave functions in the nuclear vicinity.
The total correlation contribution to the $A$-constant of the
ground state is around 20.9 $\%$. The estimated hyperfine $A$
constants of all these states are presented within an approximate theoretical
uncertainty of $\pm$2 $\%$.
Our calculated hyperfine $B$-constants for the low lying states are presented in Table~\ref{Table:VI} along with the different correlation contributing many body terms. In this table, the labelling of the different terms are done identically as those are done in Table~\ref{Table:V}. The percentage values of the total correlation contributions to these $A$ and $B$ constants are plotted in Fig.~\ref{Fig:3} to get an idea about their relative responses. The correlation to the $4f$ $^{2}F$-states shows an opposite trends between these two constants. This may be a consequence of difference of the behaviour of the wavefunctions in two different radial regions of nuclear proximity. Here, one can see that
the core polarization contributes strongly to all the cases with
respect to the other correlation terms. This is clear from Table~\ref{Table:VI} and Fig.~\ref{Fig:4}. Even, the RCC values of the $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2,5/2}$
states become more than twice of their corresponding DF values due
to large core polarization effects. The correlation contributions to the hyperfine $B$ constants of the
$4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2,7/2}$ and $5g$ $^{2}G_{7/2,9/2}$ states change
abnormally from the DF to the RCC levels. These abnormal changes are also guided by the core polarization effects. One can also find from Fig.~\ref{Fig:4} that the percentage contribution of the core polarization is almost same to the fine-structure states of a term.
The hyperfine splitting of the ground as well as few low lying excited
states are presented in Table~\ref{Table:VII}. The percentage contributions from the $B$-constants to the splitting values are presented at the last column of this table. The comparison of theoretically estimated \cite{Chaudhuri} and experimentally measured \cite{majumder} hyperfine constants of
different states shows nuclear magnetic moment may be
5.4422 $\mu_B$ for $^{115}$In I. This value varies from the standard value as obtained from Raghavan et al. by 5.5408 $\mu_B$ \cite{raghavan}. This changes the ground state splitting by 0.0634 $cm^{-1}$, which is substantial in terms of accuracy we are looking for.
Study of Nuclear magnetization distribution (NMD) of any atomic system provides informations about nuclear wave functions, which is very important for the PNC calculations\cite{stroke}. It is difficult to measure the nuclear magnetization distribution (NMD) experimentally\cite{stroke,büttgenbach}, rather it can be estimated from accurate value of hyperfine splitting using Bohr-Weisskoff formalism \cite{persson}. Though mean contribution of this effect appears only for $S_{1/2}$ and $P_{1/2}$ states, but other states, like $P_{3/2}$, are effected due to $e^{-}-e^{-}$ interaction. Using Eq(2.3), we have calculated hyperfine anomaly of In III isotopes between 113 and 115 ($^{113}\Delta ^{115}(\%)$) and 115 and 117 ($^{115}\Delta^{117}(\%)$). We present these results in Table~\ref{Table:VIII}. Like neutral Indium, we observe considerable effect of finite nucleus in these parameters for In III\cite{Lutz}. However, we do not see significant changes in the parameter between $P_{1/2}$ and $P_{3/2}$-states as was observed in neutral system\cite{persson,Lutz}.
\begin{table}[t]
\centering \caption{IPs of ground and low-lying excited states in
cm$^{-1}$}
\begin{tabular}{c}
\begin{tabular}{l c c }
\hline\hline
State & RCC & NIST \\
\hline
\\
$5s$ $^{2}S_{\frac{1}{2}} $& 226445.34 & 226191.3 \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{\frac{1}{2}} $& 168645.05 & 169010.2 \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{\frac{3}{2}} $& 164208.93 & 164668.1 \\
$6s$ $^{2}S_{\frac{1}{2}} $& 99353.88 & 99317.1 \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{\frac{3}{2}} $& 97713.82 & 97738.5 \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{\frac{5}{2}} $& 97288.94 & 97448.8 \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{\frac{1}{2}} $& 81409.35 & 81607.7 \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{\frac{3}{2}} $& 80011.96 & 80268.7 \\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{\frac{5}{2}} $& 63937.80 & 64222.5 \\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{\frac{7}{2}} $& 63960.98 & 64214.5 \\
$7s$ $^{2}S_{\frac{1}{2}} $& 56699.72 & 56761.5 \\
$5g$ $^{2}G_{\frac{7}{2}} $& 39497.11 & 39669.3 \\
$5g$ $^{2}G_{\frac{9}{2}} $& 39497.11 & 39669.3 \\
\hline\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:I}
\end{table}
\begin{table*}
\centering \caption{Calculated E1 transition amplitudes (in a.u.)
and oscillator strengths. The corresponding wavelengths
($\lambda$) are presented in \AA . The oscillator strengths
calculated by other theory and experimental measurements (Expt)
are also reported for comparison with our relativistic
coupled-cluster (RCC) results.}
\begin{tabular}{l}
\begin{tabular}{rrrrrrrr}
\\
\hline
& & \multicolumn{3}{|c|}{Transition amplitudes} & \multicolumn{3}{|c|}{Oscillator Strengths} \\
Transitions & $\lambda$ & DF & Corr & RCC & RCC & Other theory & Expt \\
\hline
\\
$5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}\rightarrow 5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ & 1748.83 & 2.0868 & -0.3656 & 1.7212 & 0.2600 &0.2519$^{a}$,0.260$^{b}$ & 0.27$^{c}$,0.2796$^{d}$\\
& & & & & & 0.260$^{e}$,0.1963$^{f}$ & \\
& & & & & & 0.2486$^{g}$
& \\
$\rightarrow 5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 1625.40 & 2.9512 & -0.5070 & 2.4442 & 0.5647 & 0.5478$^{a}$, 0.567$^{b}$ & 0.60$^{c}$,0.5279$^{d}$\\
& & & & & & 0.278$^{e}$,0.4248$^{f}$ & \\
& & & & & & 0.5400$^{g}$
& \\
$\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ & 691.64 & 0.0324 & 0.1130 & 0.1454 & 0.0047 &0.0003$^f$
& \\
$\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 685.30 & 0.0403 & -0.1653 & -0.1250 & 0.0035 &0.0007$^f$
& \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}\rightarrow 6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 1434.86 & 1.2795 & -0.0473 & 1.2322 & 0.1598 &0.161$^{b}$
& \\
$\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ & 1403.08 & 3.3519 & -0.4100 & 2.9419 & 0.9323 & 0.9113$^{a}$,0.900$^{b}$ & 0.7870$^{d}$ \\
$\rightarrow 7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 890.88 & 0.3917 & -0.0031 & 0.3886 & 0.0257 &
& \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}\rightarrow 6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 1530.20 & 1.9776 & -0.0774 & 1.9002 & 0.1778 & 0.179 $^{b}$
& 0.2506$^{d}$ \\
$\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ & 1494.11 & 1.5574 & -0.1837 & 1.3737 & 0.0954 &0.0932$^{a}$,0.092$^{b}$ & \\
$\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$ & 1487.67 & 4.6559 & -0.5481 & 4.1078 & 0.8575 &0.8387$^{a}$,0.831$^{b}$ & 0.8585$^{d}$ \\
$\rightarrow 7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 926.73 & 0.5786 & -0.0095 & 0.5691 & 0.0265 &
& \\
$6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ & 5646.72 & 4.3068 & -0.2107 & 4.0961 & 0.4573 &0.3708$^{f}$
& \\
$\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 5249.79 & 6.0411 & -0.2907 & 5.7504 & 0.9714 &0.7884$^{f}$
& \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ & 6199.32 & 4.1135 & -0.1120 & 4.0015 & 0.1983 &
& \\
$\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 5724.16 & 1.7862 & -0.0453 & 1.7409 & 0.0407 &
& \\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ & 2983.65 & 7.0372 & -0.4556 & 6.5816 & 1.1110 & 1.0915$^{a}$
& 1.1771$^{d}$ \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 5820.69 & 5.4252 & -0.1366 & 5.2885 & 0.2446 &
& \\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ & 3009.66 & 1.8915 & -0.1213 & 1.7702 & 0.0529 & 0.0520$^{a}$
& \\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$ & 3008.94 & 8.4595 & -0.5422 & 7.9173 & 1.0711 & 1.0394$^{a}$
& 1.0522$^{d}$ \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}\rightarrow 7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 4024.76 & 2.7944 & -0.0806 & 2.7138 & 0.2764 &
& \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}\rightarrow 7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 4254.02 & 4.2633 & -0.1228 & 4.1405 & 0.3035 &
& \\
\\
\hline
\\
\end{tabular}
\\
$a,g\rightarrow$ Third-order Relativistic Many-Body Perturbation Theory (RMBPT): \cite{SV,chou};\\
$b\rightarrow$ Core Polarized augmented Dirac-Fock method (DF+CP): \cite{JM};\\
$c\rightarrow$ Beam Foil technique : \cite{TA};\\
$d\rightarrow$ Beam Foil technique: \cite{WA};\\
$e\rightarrow$ Configuration Interaction calculation(CI): \cite{GLO};\\
$f\rightarrow$ Relativistic Quantum Defect Orbital method(RQDO): \cite{martin};
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:II}
\end{table*}
\begin{table*}
\centering
\setlength{\tabcolsep}{5pt}
\renewcommand{\arraystretch}{1.5}
\caption{Calculated $E2$ and $M1$ transition amplitudes in a.u..
The corresponding wavelengths ($\lambda$) are presented in \AA}
\vspace{0.5cm}
\begin{tabular}{rcrrrrrrr}
\hline
& & \multicolumn{3}{|c|}{$E2$} & \multicolumn{3}{|c|}{$M1$} \\
Transitions & $\lambda$ & DF & Corr & RCC & DF & Corr & RCC\\
\hline
$5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ & 778.50 & 6.8096 & -0.6241 & 6.1855 & & & \\
$\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$ & 776.74 & 8.3060 & -0.7744 & 7.5316 & & & \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}\rightarrow 5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 23030.33 & 8.7362 & -0.7523 & 7.9839 &1.1532 &0.0001 &1.1533\\
$\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 1126.87 & 5.1577 & -0.4127 & 4.7450 &0.0317 &0.0011 &0.0328\\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ & 954.31 & 11.5617& -1.0246 & 10.5371& & & \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ & 1203.94 & 6.1114 & -0.4543 & 5.6571 &0.0336 &0.0008 &0.0344\\
$\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 1184.84 & 5.7550 & -0.4327 & 5.3223 &0.0003 &0.0006 &0.0009\\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ & 995.56 & 6.5714 & -0.5601 & 6.0113 & & & \\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$ & 995.48 & 16.1049& -1.3733 & 14.7316& & & \\
$6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ & 63347.27 & 20.8068& -1.1669 & 19.6399& & & \\
$\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$ & 53524.59 & 25.7109& -1.4279 & 24.2830& & & \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}\rightarrow 5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$ & 345184.67& 12.5903& -0.8226 & 11.7677&1.5491 &0.0001 &1.5492\\
$\rightarrow 7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 2440.39 & 6.9372 & -0.3581 & 6.5791 & & & \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}\rightarrow 7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 2457.77 & 8.7467 & -0.4355 & 8.3112 & & & \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}\rightarrow 6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 74682.60 & 37.2585& -2.0824 & 35.1762&1.1531 &0.0000 &1.1531\\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ & 5752.02 & 40.9209& -2.2989 & 38.6220& & & \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ & 6232.01 & 22.1480& -1.2351 & 20.9129& & & \\
$\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$ & 6228.90 & 54.1958& -3.0186 & 51.1772& & & \\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}\rightarrow 4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$ & 12500000 & 17.8540& -1.0507 & 16.8033& 1.8516&0.0001 &1.8517\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:III}
\end{table*}
\begin{table*}
\centering
\caption{Calculated lifetimes using the relativistic coupled-cluster
(RCC) theory of some low-lying states in $10^{-9}$ sec along with
their comparisons with the other theoretical (Others) and
experimental (Exp) results.}
\begin{tabular}{l}
\begin{tabular}{lrcrc}
\hline
State & RCC & RMBPT$^c$ & Others & Exp \\
\hline
\\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ & 1.78 & 1.84 & $1.26^{a}$ & $1.45 \pm 0.10^{b}$, $1.72\pm 0.07^{d}$\\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 1.42 & 1.45 & & $1.50\pm 0.15^{d}$\\
$6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 0.65 & & & \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ & 0.53 & 0.67 & $0.56^{a}$ & $0.75\pm 0.06^{d} $\\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$ & 0.58 & 0.61 & & $0.98\pm 0.10^{b}$, $0.58\pm 0.05^{d}$\\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ & 4.40 & & & \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ & 4.54 & & & \\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ & 1.70 & 1.82 & & $1.70\pm 0.07^{d}$\\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$ & 1.72 & 1.74 & & $1.72\pm 0.07^{d}$\\
$7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ & 1.03 & & & \\
$5g$ $^{2}G_{7/2}$ & 2.65 & & & \\
$5g$ $^{2}G_{9/2}$ & 2.66 & 2.71 & & $2.84\pm 0.30^{d}$\\
\\
\hline
\\
\end{tabular}
\\
$a\rightarrow$ Relativistic Hartree Fock (RHF): \cite{cheng};\\
$b\rightarrow$ Beam Foil: \cite{TA};\\
$c\rightarrow$ RMBPT: \cite{SV};\\
$d\rightarrow$ Beam Foil: \cite{WA};
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:IV}
\end{table*}
\begin{table*}
\centering
\caption{Calculated hyperfine $A$ constants along with the
different correlation contributing terms in MHz.}
\begin{tabular}{c r r r r r r r r r}
\hline\hline
State \hspace{0.3cm} & $d$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $\overline{d}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $\overline{d}S_{1}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $\overline{d}S_{2}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $S_{1}\overline{d}S_{1}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $S_{1}\overline{d}S_{2}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $S_{2}\overline{d}S_{2}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & Norm. \hspace{0.3cm} & RCC\\
\\
\hline
\\
$5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ &17672.45 & 17635.18 & 2392.83 & 1382.51 & 81.21 & 72.73 & 345.29 & -395.71 & 21358.30\\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ &3317.77 & 3315.07 & 576.20 & 218.52 & 25.13 & 17.50 & 48.24 & -66.76 & 4107.07 \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ &514.01 & 518.29 & 89.92 & 68.51 & 3.92 & 5.10 & 22.45 & -10.91 & 693.70 \\
$6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ &4792.83 & 4779.14 & 318.36 & 340.26 & 5.32 & 2.40 & 106.62 & -47.66 & 5467.19 \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$ &97.59 & 100.98 & 19.73 & 22.30 & 0.99 & 1.40 & 5.26 & -1.16 & 149.53 \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$ &41.01 & 42.38 & 8.24 & 11.11 & 0.41 & 0.66 & 0.33 & -0.49 & 62.63 \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$ &1090.79 & 1089.88 & 97.20 & 76.63 & 2.22 & 2.27 & 12.99 & -11.97 & 1262.70 \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$ &173.61 & 174.80 & 16.01 & 23.18 & 0.38 & 0.53 & 11.54 & -2.11 & 223.49 \\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$ &2.60 & 2.65 & 0.48 & -2.52 & 0.03 & -0.24 & 1.73 & -0.01 & 2.14 \\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$ &1.45 & 1.49 & 0.27 & -3.32 & 0.02 & -0.41 & 0.03 & 0.01 & -1.91 \\
$7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ &2234.71 & 2227.97 & -0.49 & 153.23 & 0.01 & -4.34 & 53.48 & -16.63 & 2396.80 \\
\\
\hline\hline
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:V}
\end{table*}
\begin{table*}
\caption{Calculated hyperfine $B$ constants along with the
different correlation contributing terms in MHz.}
\begin{tabular}{c r r r r r r r r r}
\hline\hline
State \hspace{0.3cm} & $d$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $\overline{d}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $\overline{d}S_{1}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $\overline{d}S_{2}$\hspace{0.3cm} & $S_{1}\overline{d}S_{1}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $S_{1}\overline{d}S_{2}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & $S_{2}\overline{d}S_{2}$ \hspace{0.3cm} & Norm. \hspace{0.3cm} & RCC\\
\\
\hline
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$& 648.57 & 651.06 & 113.13 & 138.88 & 4.94 & 6.17 & 10.05 & -14.25 & 905.47\\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$& 41.02 & 42.56 & 8.32 & 45.33 & 0.42 & 1.76 & -0.06 & -0.76 & 97.57\\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$& 55.79 & 57.76 & 11.22 & 63.38 & 0.56 & 2.43 & -0.30 & -1.04 & 134.00\\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$& 219.07 & 219.75 & 20.19 & 41.75 & 0.47 & 0.37 & 3.51 & -2.66 & 282.32\\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{5/2}$& 1.76 & 1.86 & 0.34 & 28.28 & 0.03 & 1.30 & -0.30 & -0.15 & 31.36\\
$4f$ $^{2}F_{7/2}$& 2.06 & 2.17 & 0.40 & 33.15 & 0.03 & 1.53 & -0.31 & -0.18 & 36.79\\
$5g$ $^{2}G_{7/2}$& 0.31 & 0.31 & 0.00 & 7.08 & 0.00 & 0.04 & -0.05 & 0.00 &7.39\\
$5g$ $^{2}G_{9/2}$& 0.33 & 0.33 & 0.00 & 7.73 & 0.00 & 0.05 & -0.05 & 0.00 &8.06\\
\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:VI}
\end{table*}
\begin{table*}
\centering
\caption{Hyperfine splitting (Spl) of the ground and few low lying
excited states in MHz. The percentage contribution from the $B$
constant (B-Cont) to these splitting are presented at the last
column.}
\begin{tabular}{c}
\begin{tabular}{l c r r}
\hline\hline
State & $F_{1}\leftrightarrow F_{2} $& Spl & \hspace{0.3cm}B-Cont \\
\hline
\\
$5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2} $ & $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 106791.51 &0 \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2} $ & $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 20535.37 &0 \\
$5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2} $ & $6 \leftrightarrow 5$ & 4765.84 & 12.67 \\
& $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 3279.86 & -5.75 \\
$6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2} $ & $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 27335.95 & 0 \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2} $ & $6 \leftrightarrow 5$ & 962.22 & 6.76 \\
& $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 727.31 & -2.79 \\
$5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2} $ & $7 \leftrightarrow 6$ & 500.92 & 12.48 \\
& $6 \leftrightarrow 5$ & 385.81 & 2.61 \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2} $ & $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 6313.48 & 0 \\
$6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2} $ & $6 \leftrightarrow 5$ & 1529.17 & 12.31 \\
& $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 1058.64 & -5.56 \\
$7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2} $ & $5 \leftrightarrow 4$ & 11984.02 & 0 \\
\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:VII}
\end{table*}
\begin{figure*}
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{Graph1.pdf}
\caption{Comparison between E2 and M1 transition probabilities ($sec^{-1}$) in the $log_{10}$ scale.\\
The transitions between levels are presented along x- axis and the transition probabilities are presented along y- axis, the levels are identified as 1: $5s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$ , 2: $5p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$, 3: $5p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$,
4: $6s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$, 5: $5d$ $^{2}D_{3/2}$, 6: $5d$ $^{2}D_{5/2}$, 7: $6p$ $^{2}P_{1/2}$, 8: $6p$ $^{2}P_{3/2}$, 9: $7s$ $^{2}S_{1/2}$}
\label{Fig:1}
\end{figure*}
\begin{figure*}
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{Graph2.pdf}
\caption{Percentage contributions of the core polarization and pair correlation to the $A$ constants.}
\label{Fig:2}
\end{figure*}
\begin{figure*}
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{Graph3.pdf}
\caption{Percentage values of correlation to the hyperfine $A$ and
$B$ constants.}
\label{Fig:3}
\end{figure*}
\begin{figure*}
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.5]{Graph4.pdf}
\caption{Percentage contributions of the core polarization and pair correlation to the $B$ constants.}
\label{Fig:4}
\end{figure*}
\begin{table*}
\centering
\caption{Hyperfine anomaly of In III.}
\begin{tabular}{c}
\begin{tabular}{l c c c r r}
\hline\hline
State & A (113) & A (115) & A (117)& $^{113}\Delta^{115}(\%)$&$^{115}\Delta^{117}(\%)$ \\
\hline
\\
$5s^{2}S_{\frac{1}{2}}$&21313.0636 & 21358.3017 & 21271.3821&0.007491126&0.009042670\\
$6s^{2}S_{\frac{1}{2}}$&5455.6089 & 5467.1903 & 5444.9430&0.007461625&0.009008028\\
$7s^{2}S_{\frac{1}{2}} $&2391.7256 & 2396.8034 & 2387.0509&0.007438228&0.008981253\\
$5p^{2}P_{\frac{1}{2}}$&4098.0919 & 4107.0750 & 4090.7031&0.000558990&0.000676622\\
$5p^{2}P_{\frac{3}{2}}$&692.1824 & 693.6997 & 690.9345&0.000553917&0.000670590\\
$6p^{2}P_{\frac{1}{2}} $&1259.9349 & 1262.6970 & 1257.6639&0.000534891&0.000641958\\
$6p^{2}P_{\frac{3}{2}} $&223.0038 & 223.4925 & 222.6013&0.000642552&0.000779395\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\end{tabular}
\label{Table:VIII}
\end{table*}
\subsection{Conclusion}
The electro-magnetic transition amplitudes, lifetimes and hyperfine constants
are calculated using a highly correlated theoretical approach with
a proper account of relativity. Our calculated transition
line parameters can be applied for abundance estimations in
different astronomical systems and laboratory plasmas. The ground
state hyperfine splitting of this ion predicts its use as
microwave frequency standard at 10$^{-11}$ sec.
The detail analysis of the different correlation contributing terms
associated with the coupled-cluster theory show their impacts in
the calculations of the hyperfine constants. The hyperfine $B$
constants of the fine structures of $4f$ $^{2}F $ and $5g$ $^{2}G$ terms are found to be abnormally correlated due to the very strong
influence of the core polarization. The calculated hyperfine
splitting can be used for accurate line-profile analysis of astrophysically important transition lines. We have also observed distinct feature in the hyperfine anomaly parameters compare to neutral Indiun.
\begin{acknowledgments}
We are thankful to Prof. B. P. Das and Dr. R. K. Choudhuri, IIA,
Bangalore, India and Dr. B. K. Sahoo, PRL, Ahmedabad, India for
providing the COUPLED-CLUSTER code to us. We also want to
acknowledge Board of Research in Nuclear Sciences (BRNS), India;
for funding.
\end{acknowledgments}
| {
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Sports Update
Dynamo/Soccer
Isaiah Taylor will remain with Texas Longhorns next season
By Mike Finger on April 25, 2015 at 9:34 PM
AUSTIN – Texas point guard Isaiah Taylor, who was considering skipping his final two years of eligibility, has decided to return for his junior season with the Longhorns, he announced Saturday on Twitter.
Taylor, who was projected as a possible second-round pick in this year's NBA draft, averaged 13.1 points and 4.6 assists as a sophomore. With Taylor returning, new coach Shaka Smart will bring back eight of UT's top 10 players from last year.
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{"url":"http:\/\/tailieu.vn\/doc\/de-thi-tuyen-sinh-dai-hoc-nam-2010-mon-tieng-anh-khoi-d-ma-de-529-227809.html","text":"# \u0110\u1ec1 thi tuy\u1ec3n sinh \u0110\u1ea1i h\u1ecdc n\u0103m 2010 M\u00f4n Ti\u1ebfng Anh kh\u1ed1i D - m\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 529\n\nChia s\u1ebb: Nguyen Nhi | Ng\u00e0y: | Lo\u1ea1i File: PDF | S\u1ed1 trang:7\n\n1\n437\nl\u01b0\u1ee3t xem\n150\n\n## \u0110\u1ec1 thi tuy\u1ec3n sinh \u0110\u1ea1i h\u1ecdc n\u0103m 2010 M\u00f4n Ti\u1ebfng Anh kh\u1ed1i D - m\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 529\n\nM\u00f4 t\u1ea3 t\u00e0i li\u1ec7u\n\nTham kh\u1ea3o: \u0110\u1ec1 thi tuy\u1ec3n sinh \u0111\u1ea1i h\u1ecdc n\u0103m 2010 m\u00f4n ti\u1ebfng Anh kh\u1ed1i D - m\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 529, \u0111\u00e2y s\u1ebd l\u00e0 t\u00e0i li\u1ec7u tham kh\u1ea3o h\u1eefu \u00edch d\u00e0nh cho c\u00e1c b\u1ea1n th\u00ed sinh \u0111ang c\u00f3 nhu c\u1ea7u chu\u1ea9n b\u1ecb h\u00e0nh trang cho k\u1ef3 thi \u0111\u1ea1i h\u1ecdc cao \u0111\u1eb3ng. M\u1eddi c\u00e1c b\u1ea1n c\u00f9ng tham kh\u1ea3o.\n\nCh\u1ee7 \u0111\u1ec1:\n\nB\u00ecnh lu\u1eadn(0)\n\nL\u01b0u\n\n## N\u1ed9i dung Text: \u0110\u1ec1 thi tuy\u1ec3n sinh \u0110\u1ea1i h\u1ecdc n\u0103m 2010 M\u00f4n Ti\u1ebfng Anh kh\u1ed1i D - m\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 529\n\n1. B\u1ed8 GI\u00c1O D\u1ee4C V\u00c0 \u0110\u00c0O T\u1ea0O \u0110\u1ec0 THI TUY\u1ec2N SINH \u0110\u1ea0I H\u1eccC N\u0102M 2010 M\u00f4n: TI\u1ebeNG ANH; Kh\u1ed1i D \u0110\u1ec0 CH\u00cdNH TH\u1ee8C Th\u1eddi gian l\u00e0m b\u00e0i: 90 ph\u00fat, kh\u00f4ng k\u1ec3 th\u1eddi gian ph\u00e1t \u0111\u1ec1 (\u0110\u1ec1 thi c\u00f3 07 trang) M\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 thi 529 H\u1ecd, t\u00ean th\u00ed sinh: .......................................................................... S\u1ed1 b\u00e1o danh: ............................................................................ \u0110\u1ec0 THI G\u1ed2M 80 C\u00c2U (T\u1eea QUESTION 1 \u0110\u1ebeN QUESTION 80). Mark the letter A, B, C, or D on your answer sheet to indicate the sentence that is closest in meaning to each of the following questions. Question 1: \u201cStop smoking or you\u2019ll be ill,\u201d the doctor told me. A. I was ordered not to smoke to recover from illness. B. I was warned against smoking a lot of cigarettes. C. The doctor advised me to give up smoking to avoid illness. D. The doctor suggested smoking to treat illness. Question 2: Slightly more than twenty-five percent of the students in the class come from Spanish- speaking countries. A. A small minority of the students in the class are Hispanic. B. The percentage of the students speaking Spanish fell by twenty-five percent. C. A considerable proportion of the students in the class are Spanish. D. Seventy-five percent of the students in the class speak Spanish. Question 3: \u201cWe\u2019re having a reunion this weekend. Why don\u2019t you come?\u201d John said to us. A. John simply asked us why we wouldn\u2019t come to a reunion. B. John didn\u2019t understand why we came to a reunion. C. John cordially invited us to a reunion this weekend. D. John asked us why we didn\u2019t come to a reunion this weekend. Question 4: \"Would you like some more beer?\" he asked. A. He asked me if I wanted some beer. B. He asked me would I like some more beer. C. He wanted to invite me for a glass of beer. D. He offered me some more beer. Question 5: Because they erected a barn, the cattle couldn\u2019t get out into the wheat field. A. In order not to keep the cattle away from the wheat field, they erected a barn. B. They erected a barn in case the cattle couldn\u2019t get out into the wheat field. C. They erected a barn so that the cattle would get into the wheat field. D. They erected a barn, and as a result, the cattle couldn\u2019t get out into the wheat field. Question 6: When I arrived, they were having dinner. A. They ate their dinner as soon as I arrived. B. When they started having their dinner, I arrived. C. I came in the middle of their dinner. D. I came to their invitation to dinner. Question 7: It is English pronunciation that puzzles me most. A. English pronunciation is difficult for me. B. Puzzling me most is how to pronounce English. C. Pronouncing English words is not complicated. D. I was not quick at English pronunciation at school. Question 8: They couldn\u2019t climb up the mountain because of the storm. A. The storm discouraged them from climbing up the mountain. B. The storm made them impossible to climb up the mountain. C. The storm made it not capable of climbing up the mountain. D. Their climbing up the mountain was unable due to the storm. Trang 1\/7 - M\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 thi 529\n2. Question 9: Wealthy as they were, they were far from happy. A. They were as wealthy as they were happy. B. Although they were wealthy, they were not happy. C. They were not happy as they were wealthy. D. Even if they were wealthy, they were not unhappy. Question 10: The woman was too weak to lift the suitcase. A. The woman shouldn't have lifted the suitcase as she was weak. B. The woman, though weak, could lift the suitcase. C. So weak was the woman that she couldn't lift the suitcase. D. The woman wasn\u2019t able to lift the suitcase, so she was very weak. Mark the letter A, B, C, or D on your answer sheet to show the underlined part that needs correction. Question 11: The team leader demanded from his team members a serious A B attitude towards work, good team spirit, and that they work hard. C D Question 12: Many people have found the monotonous buzzing of the vuvuzela in the A B 2010-World-Cup matches so annoyed. C D Question 13: In my judgment, I think Hem is the best physicist among the scientists of A B C the SEA region. D Question 14: In order no money would be wasted, we had to account for every penny we spent. A B C D Question 15: After analyzing the steep rise in profits according to your report, it was convinced A B C that your analyses were correct. D Read the following passage and mark the letter A, B, C, or D on your answer sheet to indicate the correct answer to each of the questions from 16 to 25. In the West, cartoons are used chiefly to make people laugh. The important feature of all these cartoons is the joke and the element of surprise which is contained. Even though it is very funny, a good cartoon is always based on close observation of a particular feature of life and usually has a serious purpose. Cartoons in the West have been associated with political and social matters for many years. In wartime, for example, they proved to be an excellent way of spreading propaganda. Nowadays cartoons are often used to make short, sharp comments on politics and governments as well as on a variety of social matters. In this way, the modern cartoon has become a very powerful force in influencing people in Europe and the United States. Unlike most American and European cartoons, however, many Chinese cartoon drawings in the past have also attempted to educate people, especially those who could not read and write. Such cartoons about the lives and sayings of great men in China have proved extremely useful in bringing education to illiterate and semi-literate people throughout China. Confucius, Mencius and Laozi have all appeared in very interesting stories presented in the form of cartoons. The cartoons themselves have thus served to illustrate the teachings of the Chinese sages in a very attractive way. In this sense, many Chinese cartoons are different from Western cartoons in so far as they do not depend chiefly on telling jokes. Often, there is nothing to laugh at when you see Chinese cartoons. Trang 2\/7 - M\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 thi 529\n3. This is not their primary aim. In addition to commenting on serious political and social matters, Chinese cartoons have aimed at spreading the traditional Chinese thoughts and culture as widely as possible among the people. Today, however, Chinese cartoons have an added part to play in spreading knowledge. They offer a very attractive and useful way of reaching people throughout the world, regardless of the particular country in which they live. Thus, through cartoons, the thoughts and teachings of the old Chinese philosophers and sages can now reach people who live in such countries as Britain, France, America, Japan, Malaysia or Australia and who are unfamiliar with the Chinese culture. Until recently, the transfer of knowledge and culture has been overwhelmingly from the West to the East and not vice versa. By means of cartoons, however, publishing companies in Taiwan, Hong Kong and Singapore are now having success in correcting this imbalance between the East and the West. Cartoons can overcome language barriers in all foreign countries. The vast increase in the popularity of these cartoons serves to illustrate the truth of Confucius\u2019s famous saying \u201cOne picture is worth a thousand words.\u201d Question 16: Which of the following clearly characterizes Western cartoons? A. Enjoyment, liveliness, and carefulness. B. Originality, freshness, and astonishment. C. Seriousness, propaganda, and attractiveness. D. Humour, unexpectedness, and criticism. Question 17: Chinese cartoons have been useful as an important means of______. A. educating ordinary people B. spreading Western ideas C. political propaganda in wartime D. amusing people all the time Question 18: The major differences between Chinese cartoons and Western cartoons come from their ______. A. purposes B. styles C. nationalities D. values Question 19: The pronoun \u201cthis\u201d in paragraph 4 mostly refers to ______. A. a propaganda campaign B. a funny element C. an educational purpose D. a piece of art Question 20: The passage is intended to present ______. A. a description of cartoons of all kinds the world over B. an outline of Western cartoons and Chinese cartoons C. a contrast between Western cartoons and Chinese cartoons D. an opinion about how cartoons entertain people Question 21: Which of the following could be the best title for the passage? A. A Very Powerful Force in Influencing People B. Chinese Cartoons and Western Cartoons C. Cartoons as a Way of Educating People D. An Excellent Way of Spreading Propaganda Question 22: In general, Chinese cartoons are now aiming at ______. A. disseminating traditional practices in China and throughout the world B. spreading the Chinese ideas and cultural values throughout the world C. bringing education to illiterate and semi-literate people in the world D. illustrating the truth of Chinese great men\u2019s famous sayings Question 23: The word \u201cimbalance\u201d in paragraph 6 refers to ______. A. the dominant cultural influence of the West over the East B. the mismatch between the East cartoons and the West cartoons C. the discrimination between the West culture and the East culture D. the influence of the East cartoons over the West cartoons Question 24: Which of the following is most likely the traditional subject of Chinese cartoons? A. Jokes and other kinds of humour in political and social matters. B. The stories and features of the lives of great men the world over. C. The illiterate and semi-literate people throughout China. D. The philosophies and sayings of ancient Chinese thinkers. Trang 3\/7 - M\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 thi 529\n4. Question 25: According to the passage, which of the following is true? A. Language barriers restricted cartoons. B. Cartoons will replace other forms of writing. C. Western cartoons always have a serious purpose. D. Cartoons can serve various purposes. Read the following passage and mark the letter A, B, C, or D on your answer sheet to indicate the correct answer to each of the questions from 26 to 35. It\u2019s often said that we learn things at the wrong time. University students frequently do the minimum of work because they\u2019re crazy about a good social life instead. Children often scream before their piano practice because it\u2019s so boring. They have to be given gold stars and medals to be persuaded to swim, or have to be bribed to take exams. But the story is different when you\u2019re older. Over the years, I\u2019ve done my share of adult learning. At 30, I went to a college and did courses in History and English. It was an amazing experience. For starters, I was paying, so there was no reason to be late \u2013 I was the one frowning and drumming my fingers if the tutor was late, not the other way round. Indeed, if I could persuade him to linger for an extra five minutes, it was a bonus, not a nuisance. I wasn\u2019t frightened to ask questions, and homework was a pleasure not a pain. When I passed an exam, I had passed it for me and me alone, not for my parents or my teachers. The satisfaction I got was entirely personal. Some people fear going back to school because they worry that their brains have got rusty. But the joy is that, although some parts have rusted up, your brain has learnt all kinds of other things since you were young. It has learnt to think independently and flexibly and is much better at relating one thing to another. What you lose in the rust department, you gain in the maturity department. In some ways, age is a positive plus. For instance, when you\u2019re older, you get less frustrated. Experience has told you that, if you\u2019re calm and simply do something carefully again and again, eventually you\u2019ll get the hang of it. The confidence you have in other areas \u2013 from being able to drive a car, perhaps \u2013 means that if you can\u2019t, say, build a chair instantly, you don\u2019t, like a child, want to destroy your first pathetic attempts. Maturity tells you that you will, with application, eventually get there. I hated piano lessons at school, but I was good at music. And coming back to it, with a teacher who could explain why certain exercises were useful and with musical concepts that, at the age of ten, I could never grasp, was magical. Initially, I did feel a bit strange, thumping out a piece that I\u2019d played for my school exams, with just as little comprehension of what the composer intended as I\u2019d had all those years before. But soon, complex emotions that I never knew poured out from my fingers, and suddenly I could understand why practice makes perfect. Question 26: It is implied in paragraph 1 that ______. A. parents should encourage young learners to study more B. young learners are usually lazy in their class C. teachers should give young learners less homework D. young learners often lack a good motivation for learning Question 27: The writer\u2019s main point in paragraph 2 is to show that as people grow up, ______. A. they get more impatient with their teachers B. they have a more positive attitude towards learning C. they cannot learn as well as younger learners D. they tend to learn less as they are discouraged Question 28: The phrase \u201cFor starters\u201d in paragraph 2 could best be replaced by \u201c______\u201d. A. First and foremost B. For beginners C. At the starting point D. At the beginning Question 29: While doing some adult learning courses at a college, the writer was surprised ______. A. to feel learning more enjoyable B. to have more time to learn C. to be able to learn more quickly D. to get on better with the tutor Trang 4\/7 - M\u00e3 \u0111\u1ec1 thi 529\n6. Question 46: Is it true that this country produces more oil than ______ ? A. any another country B. any other countries C. any countries else D. any country else Question 47: She had to borrow her sister\u2019s car because hers was ______. A. off work B. out of order C. off chance D. out of work Question 48: ______ broken several world records in swimming. A. It is said to have B. She is said to have C. People say she had D. She is said that she has Question 49: Ben: \"______\" Jane: \"Never mind.\" A. Would you mind going to dinner next Sunday? B. Congratulations! How wonderful! C. Sorry for staining your carpet. Let me have it cleaned. D. Thank you for being honest with me. Question 50: We ______with a swim in the lake. A. got out B. took up C. cooled off D. gave in Question 51: If everyone ______, how would we control the traffic? A. can fly B. could fly C. flies D. had flown Question 52: Laura had a blazing ______ with Eddie and stormed out of the house. A. row B. word C. chat D. gossip Question 53: \u201cThe inflation rate in Greece is five times ______ my country,\u201d he said. A. more than B. as high as that in C. as many as that in D. as much as Question 54: Our industrial output______ from $2 million in 2002 to$4 million this year. A. was rising B. rises C. rose D. has risen Question 55: All students should be ______ and literate when they leave school. A. numeric B. numerous C. numerate D. numeral Question 56: Since he failed his exam, he had to ______ for it again. A. pass B. make C. take D. sit Question 57: Margaret: \"Could you open the window, please?\" Henry: \" ______.\" A. I feel sorry B. Yes, with pleasure C. I am, of course D. Yes, I can Question 58: Mr. Black: \u201cI\u2019d like to try on these shoes, please.\u201d Salesgirl: \u201c______\u201d A. That\u2019s right, sir. B. Why not? C. I\u2019d love to. D. By all means, sir. Question 59: Neil Armstrong was the first man ______ on the moon. A. has walked B. walked C. walking D. to walk Question 60: The Internet has enabled people to ______ with each other more quickly. A. interact B. interlink C. intervene D. interconnect Question 61: Liz: \u201cThanks for the nice gift you brought to us!\u201d Jennifer: \u201c______\u201d A. Actually speaking, I myself don\u2019t like it. B. Welcome! It\u2019s very nice of you. C. Not at all. Don\u2019t mention it. D. All right. Do you know how much it costs? Question 62: Martha, Julia and Mark are 17, 19 and 20 years old ______. A. respectively B. separately C. respectfully D. independently Question 63: \u201cYou can go to the party tonight______ you are sober when you come home.\u201d A. as well as B. as far as C. as long as D. as soon as Question 64: Bill: \u201cCan I get you another drink?\u201d Jerry: \u201c______.\u201d A. Forget it B. No, I\u2019ll think it over C. Not just now D. 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\section{Introduction}
Video object segmentation(VOS) is a fundamental computer vision task, with a wide range of applications including video editing, video composition and autonomous driving. In this paper, we focus on the task of semi-supervised video object segmentation. Given a video and the ground truth object mask of the first frame, semi-supervised VOS predicts the segmentation masks of the objects specified by the ground truth mask in the first frame for the remaining frames. In video sequences, the target object will undergo large appearance changes due to continuous motion and variable camera view. And it may disappear in some frames due to occlusion between different objects. Furthermore, there are also similar instances of same categories that are difficult to distinguish, making the problem even harder. Therefore, semi-supervised VOS is extremely challenging despite the provided annotation in the first frame.
\begin{figure}[!t]
\begin{center}
\setlength{\fboxrule}{0pt}
\fbox{\includegraphics[width=0.95\linewidth]{./figures/fig1.pdf}}
\end{center}
\caption{Typical memory-based approaches rely on pixel-level similarity, which leads to errors in prediction, as show in second row. The proposed Position Guidance Module(PGM) helps the network track the motion trajectory(bottom left). And the object-aware Object Relation Module(ORM) prevents the network from making fragmented segmentation pieces(bottom right).}
\label{fig:fig1}
\end{figure}
The fundamental problem of VOS lies in how to make full use of the spatio-temporally structured information contained in video frames. Memory-based approaches are recently proposed with significant performance improvements in popular VOS benchmarks, e.g. DAVIS\cite{davis2016,davis2017} and Youtube-VOS\cite{youtubevos}. Space-Time Memory network(STM)\cite{STM} is the first memory-based semi-supervised VOS method, developing a memory mechanism to store information from all previous frames for the query frame to read. It differs from other matching-based methods as it expands its search range to the entire space-time domain and perform dense matching in the feature space. However, memory-based methods only consider pixel-level matching and tend to retrieve all pixels with high matching score in the query image. It may fail when a non-target region share similar visual appearance with the target regions
as illustrated in Figure~\ref{fig:fig1}. Recently, KMN\cite{KMN} introduces memory-to-query matching to improve STM. But the solution remains pixel similarity matching which cannot deal with appearance changes and deformation. In order to tackle the aforementioned issues, we propose to improve memory-based methods from two aspects: 1) Position consistency.
The movement of objects usually follows a certain trajectory, which serves as an important instruction to guide segmentation. 2) Target consistency.
The overall embedding feature for the tracked target should maintain object-level consistency throughout the entire video.
Propagation-based methods\cite{osmn,rgmp,agss-vos} introduce to directly utilize the prediction from previous frames for better segmentation. Inspired by these works, we propose to apply previous positional information as a guidance for memory-based methods to maintain position consistency. Typical matching-based methods\cite{videomatch, PML} only consider pixel-level feature without the context information from the entire object. Inspired by some works in tracking\cite{siamfc} and one/few-shot detection\cite{fsod,hsieh2019one}, we propose to integrate object-level feature into memory-based network to maintain target consistency.
To this end, we propose a novel framework to Learn position and target Consistency for Memory-based video object segmentation(LCM).
Taking advantage of STM, LCM performs pixel-level matching mechanism to retrieve target pixels based on similarity and stores previous information in a memory pool. This procedure is named Global Retrieval Module(GRM). Besides, LCM learns a local embedding named Position Guidance Module(PGM) to fully utilize the position consistency and guides the segmentation by learning a location response. To maintain target consistency, LCM introduces Object Relation Module(ORM). As the target object is annotated in the first frame of a video, the object relationship from the first value embedding is encoded to the query frame, which serves as a consistent fusion for context feature during the entire video sequence. Figure~\ref{fig:fig1} illustrates the effectiveness of our LCM against typical errors in memory-based methods.
Our contributions can be summarized as follows:
\begin{itemize}
\item We propose a novel Position Guidance Module to compute a location response to maintain position consistency in memory-based methods.
\item We propose Object Relation Module to effectively fuse object-level information for maintaining consistency of the target object.
\item We achieve state-of-the-art performance on both DAVIS and Youtube-VOS benchmark and rank the 1st in the DAVIS 2020 challenge semi-supervised VOS task.
\end{itemize}
\section{Related Works}
\textbf{Top-down methods for VOS. }
Top-down methods tackle video object segmentation with two processes. They first conduct detection methods to obtain proposals for target objects and then predict mask results. PReMVOS\cite{premvos} utilizes Mask RCNN\cite{maskrcnn} to generate coarse mask proposals and conducts refinement, optical flow and re-identification to achieve a high performance. DyeNet\cite{DyeNet} applies RPN\cite{fasterrcnn} to extract proposals and uses Re-ID Module to associate proposal with recurrent mask propagation. TAN-DTTM\cite{TAN-DTTM} proposes Temporal Aggregation Network and Dynamic Template Matching to combine RPN with videos and select correct RoIs.
Top-down methods rely heavily on the pre-trained detectors and the pipelines are usually too complicated to conduct end-to-end training.
\textbf{Propagation-based methods for VOS. }
Propagation-based methods utilize the information from previous frames. MaskTrack\cite{MaskTrack} directly concatenates previous mask with current image as the input. RGMP\cite{rgmp} also concatenates previous masks and proposes a siamese encoder to utilize the first frame. OSMN\cite{osmn} designs a modulator to encode spatial and channel modulation parameters computed from previous results. AGSS-VOS\cite{agss-vos} uses current image and previous results and combines instance-specific branch and instance-agnostic branch with attention-guided decoder.
In general, previous frame is similar in appearance to the current frame, but it cannot handle occlusion and error drifting. And previous works usually conduct implicit feature fusion which is lack of interpretability.
\textbf{Matching-based methods for VOS. }
Matching-based methods perform pixel-level matching between template frame and current frame.
PML\cite{PML} proposes a embedding network with triplet loss and nearest neighbor classifier. VideoMatch\cite{videomatch} conducts soft matching with foreground and background features to measure similarity. FEELVOS\cite{feelvos} proposes global and local matching according to the distance value. CFBI\cite{cfbi} applies background matching together with an instance-level attention mechanism. The main inspiration of our work is STM\cite{STM} which proposes to use all previous frames by storing information as memory.
KMN\cite{KMN} applies Query-to-Memory matching to improve original STM with kernelized memory read.
Matching-based methods ignore the temporal information especially positional relationship. And they miss the knowledge from the overall target object.
\begin{figure*}[!t]
\begin{center}
\setlength{\fboxrule}{0pt}
\fbox{\includegraphics[width=0.85\textwidth]{./figures/fig2.pdf}}
\end{center}
\caption{The overview of our LCM. The information of past frames are stored in memory pool. Global Retrieval Module(GRM) conducts pixel-level matching between query and memory pool. Position Guidance Module(PGM) encodes information from previous frame. Object Relation Module(ORM) fuses feature from first value embedding. }
\label{fig:overview}
\end{figure*}
\textbf{Attention mechanism.}
Attention is widely adopted in machine learning including natural language process and computer vision.
Non-local\cite{nonlocal} network computes attention response at a position as a weighted sum of the features at all positions, capturing global and long-term information. \cite{empirical} proposes a generalized attention formulation for modeling spatial attention. Many semantic segmentation works\cite{ccnet,psanet,OCR} utilize attention to build context information for every pixels.
\cite{hsieh2019one} emphasizes the features of the query and images via co-attention and co-excitation.
\section{Methods}
We first present the overview of our LCM in section~\ref{sec:overview}. In section~\ref{sec:GRM}, we describe the Global Retrieval Module. Then we introduce the proposed Position Guidance Module and Object Relation Module in section~\ref{sec:PGM} and section~\ref{sec:PRM}. Finally, the detail of training strategy is in section~\ref{sec:train}.
\subsection{Overview}\label{sec:overview}
The overall architecture of LCM is illustrated in Figure~\ref{fig:overview}. LCM uses a typical Encoder-Decoder architecture to conduct segmentation. For a query image, the query encoder produces three embeddings, i.e. $Key$-$G$, $Key$-$L$ and $Value$. The embeddings are fully exploited in three sub-modules: Global Retrieval Module(GRM), Position Guidance Module(PGM) and Object Relation Module(ORM). First, GRM is designed the same as Space-Time Memory Network(STM)\cite{STM}. It calculates a pixel-level feature correlation between the current frame and memory pool.
The $Key$-$G$ and $value$ from previous frames
are stored in memory pool via the memory encoder. Second, we propose PGM, which learns a feature embedding for both current frame and previous adjacent frame. Obviously previous frame contains similar positional information with current frame. Thus we build a positional relationship between these two frames which enhances positional constrain for the retrieved pixels. Moreover, to merge object-level information into pixel-level matching procedure and to prevent the accumulative error in memory pool, we propose ORM. The information of objects in the first frame will be maintained during entire sequential inference. Finally, we introduce the training strategy of our LCM. In the following section, we will further present a specific description.
\subsection{Global Retrieval Module}\label{sec:GRM}
Global Retrieval Module(GRM) highly borrows the implementation of Space-time Memory Network(STM)\cite{STM}. As illustrated in Figure~\ref{fig:overview}, Previous frames together with its mask predictions are encoded through the memory encoder meanwhile current frame is encoded through the query encoder. We use the ResNet-50\cite{resnet} as backbone for both encoders. For the $t$th frame, the output feature maps are defined as $r^{M}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{H{\times}W{\times}C}$ and $r^{Q}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{H{\times}W{\times}C}$.
For previous frames,
the memory global key $k^{M}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{H{\times}W{\times}C/8}$ and memory value $v^{M}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{H{\times}W{\times}C/2}$ are embedded through two separated $3{\times}3$ convolutional layers from $r^{M}$. Then both embeddings are stored in memory pool and are concatenated along the temporal dimension, which are defined as $k^{M}_{p}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{T{\times}H{\times}W{\times}C/8}$ and $v^{M}_{p}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{T{\times}H{\times}W{\times}C/2}$. For query image, the query global key $k^{Q}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{H{\times}W{\times}C/8}$ will be embedded from $r^{Q}$. The Global Retrieval Module retrieves the matched pixel feature based on the similarity of the global key between query and memory pool by the following formulation:
\begin{equation}
s(i,j)=\frac{exp(k^{M}_{p}(i){\odot}{k^{Q}(j)^\mathsf{T}})}{\sum_{i}exp(k^{M}_{p}(i){\odot}{k^{Q}(j)^\mathsf{T}})}
\end{equation}
where $i$ and $j$ are the pixel feature indexes of memory pool and the query. $\odot$ represents the matrix inner production, and function $s$ denotes the $softmax$ operation, determining the location of the most similar pixel feature in memory pool for the query. Then the retrieved value feature is calculated as:
\begin{equation}
y^{GRM}(j)=\sum_{i}s(i,j){\odot}v^{M}_{p}(i)
\end{equation}
Global Retrieval Module encourages the query to search for the pixel-level appearance feature with high similarity along both spatial and temporal dimension. The main contribution of this module is its high recall. However, such mechanism does not fully utilize the characteristics of video object segmentation. The calculation of the correlation map is equally conducted with all features in memory pool without position consistency. As a consequence, the network tends to learn where to find the similar area but not correctly tracking the target object. The following proposed modules aim to solve above problems.
\subsection{Position Guidance Module}\label{sec:PGM}
In video object segmentation, the motion trajectory of an object is continuous and the recent frames usually contain the cues of approximate location of the target. When conducting Global Retrieval, all pixels with high similarity will be matched. Thus, if some small areas or other objects besides the tracked one have similar appearance feature, the Global Retrieval Module often incorrectly retrieves them as illustrated in Figure~\ref{fig:fig1}. Thus, the positional information from recent frames should be effectively used.
Here we introduce Position Guidance Module(PGM) which encodes previous adjacent frame to learn position consistency. As shown in Figure~\ref{fig:overview}, in addition to output global key, we also propose to extract local key from the $res4$ feature map for local position addressing. Specifically, another $3{\times}3$ convolutional layer is applied for both query embedding and previous adjacent memory embedding to output query local key $k^{Q}_{L}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{H{\times}W{\times}C/8}$ and memory local key $k^{M}_{L}{\in}{\mathbb{R}}^{H{\times}W{\times}C/8}$.
\begin{figure}[!t]
\begin{center}
\setlength{\fboxrule}{0pt}
\fbox{\includegraphics[width=0.47\textwidth]{./figures/fig3.pdf}}
\end{center}
\caption{Implementation of Position Guidance Module.}
\label{fig:pos}
\end{figure}
The implementation of Position Guidance Module is depicted in Figure~\ref{fig:pos}. The global key is learned to encode visual semantics for matching robust to appearance variations as described in STM. In comparison, the local key is designed to not only address feature similarity but also encode positional correspondence. Since the matrix operation for these embeddings is position-invariant, we supplement them with 2D positional encodings\cite{imagetrans,detr} to maintain location cues. We use sine and cosine functions with different frequencies to define a fixed absolute encoding associated with the corresponding position, formulating it as $pos(i)$. Positional encodings are added to both local keys followed by a $1{\times}1$ convolutional layer $f_{n}$. We depict the process as follows.
\begin{equation}
p^{M}(i)=f_{n}(k^{M}_{L}(i)+pos(i))
\end{equation}
\begin{equation}
p^{Q}(j)=f_{n}(k^{Q}_{L}(j)+pos(i))
\end{equation}
Then we reshape $p^{M}$ and $p^{Q}$ and apply matrix inner product to get the embedding $S$ with size of $HW{\times}HW$. Softmax operation is applied on the query dimension to form a response distribution for each location in the previous frame. Meanwhile we use the previous predicted mask to reduce the response of non-object areas. The calculation is defined as:
\begin{equation}
S(i,j)=\frac{exp(p^{Q}(j){\odot}{p^{M}(i)^\mathsf{T}})}{\sum_{j}exp(p^{Q}(j){\odot}{p^{M}(i)^\mathsf{T}})}{\ast}g(M_{t-1})
\end{equation}
where $g(x)=\frac{exp(x)}{\emph{e}}$ prevents the response from the location of background close to zero since the previous prediction is not always correct. Next we select the top-K values on the memory dimension and average them to get the position map of size $H{\times}W$. Experimentally, we set $K=8$. The selected locations in the memory map determine a significant position association with corresponding query location. And the location with high response value in the position map represents the area where objects are most likely to appear in the query image. Finally, this position map serves as a spatial attention map and we conduct element-wise product between the position map and the query value $v^{Q}$:
\begin{equation}
y^{PGM}(j)=\frac{\sum_{i}{topK\{S(i,j)\}}}{K}{\ast}v^{Q}(j)
\end{equation}
To demonstrate the effectiveness of PGM, we illustrate the typical case in Figure~\ref{fig:posv}. Without PGM, pixels of similar objects are likely to be retrieved due to the high appearance similarity. As a comparison, PGM promotes a better discrimination between target and distractors.
We normalize the learned location response in PGM to a heatmap. The result shows that PGM learns a response distribution which not only considers the similarity of the appearance features between objects, but also correctly determines the location area of the target.
\begin{figure}[!t]
\begin{center}
\setlength{\fboxrule}{0pt}
\fbox{\includegraphics[width=0.44\textwidth]{./figures/fig4_.pdf}}
\end{center}
\vspace{-0.3cm}
\caption{The effectiveness of PGM.}
\label{fig:posv}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Object Relation Module}\label{sec:PRM}
In video object segmentation, it is critical to utilize object-level feature of the target, which is not covered by above mechanism. The matching-based pixel retrieval is a bottom-up approach and lack of context information. During video inference, the accumulative error often brings noisy ($Key$-$G$, $value$) pairs into memory pool and will mislead the subsequent pixel matching process and position guidance as shown in middle right of Figure~\ref{fig:fig1}. To tackle above problems, it is essential to additionally utilize the first frame as it always provides intact and reliable masks. Specifically, we propose Object Relation Module(ORM) to fuse the object-level information of the first frame as a prior into the inference of entire video stream to maintain target consistency.
In Object Relation Module, we start from the first value $v^{F}$ and the query value $v^{Q}$. The module structure is illustrated in Figure~\ref{fig:prior}. According to the ground truth mask, for each object we select the foreground feature in the first value $v^{F}$ into a value set $F\{f_{i}\}$, where $i$ denotes the location that belongs to certain object mask. Inspired by \cite{hsieh2019one}, we design a cross relation mechanism to merge object-level feature into the query value. For both $F\{f_{i}\}$ and $v^{Q}(j)$, we conduct non-local operation and output respective non-local relation feature $F_Q\{f_{i}\}$ and $v_{F}^{Q}(j)$ as follows:
\begin{equation}
F_Q\{(f_{i})\}=\frac{1}{d}\sum_{j}{f(F\{f_{i}\},v^{Q}(j)){\ast}g(v^{Q}(j))}
\end{equation}
\begin{equation}
v_{F}^{Q}(j)=\frac{1}{d}\sum_{i}{f(v^{Q}(j),F\{f_{i}\}){\ast}g(F\{f_{i}\}})
\end{equation}
where $d=H{\ast}W$ is the normalization factor and $g$ is a $1{\times}1$ convolutional layer. $f$ denotes dot product between two vectors. Then the original feature is enhanced by the non-local relation feature via element-wise sum.
Furthermore, we conduct global average pooling on the enhanced first value feature followed by two fully-connected layers and Sigmoid function as in the design of SENet\cite{senet}, serving as the channel-wise attention. Thus, the query value can adaptively re-weighting the importance coefficient over channels through the instruction from object-level feature. The process is summarized as follows, where GAP indicates global average pooling:
\begin{equation}
v^{Q}(j) = v^{Q}(j)+v_{F}^{Q}(j)
\end{equation}
\begin{equation}
F\{f_{i}\} = F\{f_{i}\}+F_Q\{(f_{i})\}
\end{equation}
\begin{equation}
y^{ORM}(j) = v^{Q}(j){\ast}GAP(F\{f_{i}\})
\end{equation}
\begin{figure}[!t]
\begin{center}
\setlength{\fboxrule}{0pt}
\fbox{\includegraphics[width=0.47\textwidth]{./figures/fig5.pdf}}
\end{center}
\caption{Process of Object Relation Module.}
\label{fig:prior}
\end{figure}
Object Relation Module encodes object-sensitive information flow into the feature extraction. The output is merged with Position Guidance Module and concatenated with the memory value from Global Retrieval Module as the final feature. We employ the decoder described in \cite{rgmp,STM} to gradually upsample the feature map combined with residual skip connections to estimate the object mask. We apply soft aggregation\cite{rgmp,STM} to merge the
multi-object predictions.
\subsection{Training Strategy}\label{sec:train}
\textbf{Pre-training on static images. }
As widely used in recent VOS task\cite{rgmp,STM,KMN}, we simulate fake video dataset with static images to pre-train the network for better parameter initialization. We leverage image segmentation datasets\cite{pre1,pre2,coco} for pre-training. A synthetic clip contains three frames. Specifically, one image is sampled from real dataset and generates other two fake images by applying random affine transforms.
\textbf{Main-training on real videos without temporal limit. }
In this step, we leverage video object segmentation datasets to train the model. Different from the original main training setting in \cite{STM}, we do not limit video sampling intervals. Three frames are randomly selected from a video sequence and we randomly shuffle the order of them.
Only objects that appear in all three frames are selected as foreground objects.
This strategy encourages the network to strength retrieval capability since the target object will appear in all possible regions.
\textbf{Fine-tuning on real videos as sequence. }
At inference of video object segmentation, the mask results is computed frame by frame sequentially. Therefore, in this training stage we further fine-tune the model to reduce the gap between training and testing. We sample three frames with time-order and the skip number is randomly selected from 1 to 5. The predicted soft mask result is used to compute memory embeddings. This training mechanism construct training samples with sequence information, which benefits the training of PGM.
\textbf{Training Details. }
We initialize the network with ImageNet pretrained parameters. During pre-training, we conduct translation, rotation, zooming and bluring to transform images and randomly crop 384$\times$384 patches. We minimize the cross-entropy loss using Adam optimizer with learning rate of 5e-4. During main-training and fine-tuning, we randomly crop a 640$\times$384 patch around the maximum bounding box of all objects in three frames. Adam optimizer with learning rate of 1e-5 is used in main-training and SGD optimizer with learning rate of 3e-4 for fine-tuning. We use 8 Tesla V100 GPUs. Pre-training takes 25 hours(10 epoch). Training without temporal limit takes 12 hours(200 epoch). Training as sequence takes 3 hours(50 epoch). We do not apply post-processing or online training.
\section{Experiments}
We evaluate our model on DAVIS\cite{davis2016,davis2017} and YouTube-VOS\cite{youtubevos}, two popular VOS benchmarks with multiple objects. For YouTube-VOS, we train our model on the YouTube-VOS training set and report the result on YouTube-VOS 2018 validation set. For the evaluation on DAVIS, we train our model on DAVIS 2017 training set with 60 videos. Both DAVIS 2016 and 2017 are evaluated using an identical model trained on DAVIS 2017 for a fair comparison with the previous works. We also report the result trained with both DAVIS 2017 and YouTube-VOS(3471 videos) following recent works.
The evaluation metric is the average of $\mathcal{J}$ score and $\mathcal{F}$ score. $\mathcal{J}$ score calculates the average IoU between the prediction and the ground truth mask. $\mathcal{F}$ score calculates an average boundary similarity between the boundary of the prediction and the ground truth mask.
\subsection{Compare with the State-of-the-art Methods}
\begin{table}
\centering
\input{tables/youtubevos}
\caption{The quantitative evaluation on Youtube-VOS 2018 validation dataset.}
\label{table:youtubevos}
\end{table}
\textbf{Youtube-VOS}\cite{youtubevos} is the largest dataset for video segmentation which consists of 4453 high-resolution videos. In detail, the dataset contains 3471 videos in the training set (65 categories), 474 videos in the validation set (additional 26 unseen categories). We train our model on Youtube-VOS training set and evaluate it on Youtube-VOS-18 validation set.
As shown in Table~\ref{table:youtubevos}, our approach LCM obtains a final score of $82.0\%$, significantly outperforming our baseline STM($79.4\%$) of $2.6\%$. It demonstrates the effectiveness of our proposed modules on typical memory-based methods. Compared with other recent works, LCM also achieves state-of-the-art performance. CFBI\cite{cfbi} is built on a strong pipeline with COCO\cite{coco} pre-trained DeepLabV3+\cite{v3+} and a well-designed segmentation head. KMN applies a Hide-and-Seek training strategy which improves the diversity and accuracy of training data and is a general data-augmentation for any other memory-based VOS methods including LCM. Without these enhancements, our performance is still higher.
This result demonstrates the robustness and generalization of our approach on a complex dataset.
\begin{table}
\centering
\input{tables/davis2017}
\caption{The quantitative evaluation on DAVIS-2017 validation and test-dev dataset. (+YV) indicates training with both DAVIS and Youtube-VOS. }
\label{table:davis2017}
\end{table}
\textbf{DAVIS 2017}\cite{davis2017} is a multi-object extension of DAVIS 2016 and it is more challenging than DAVIS 2016 since the model needs to consider the difference between various objects. The validation set of DAVIS 2017 consists of 59 objects in 30 videos. In this section we evaluate our model on both DAVIS 2017 validation and test-dev benchmark.
The results are compared to state-of-the-art approaches in Table~\ref{table:davis2017}.
Our method shows state-of-the-art results. When applying both DAVIS and Youtube-VOS datasets for training, LCM achieves $83.5\%$, surpassing our baseline STM of $1.7\%$. And LCM also shows higher performance than other existing methods including online-learning methods and offline-learning methods. Follwing recent work, we also report the result with only DAVIS for training. And LCM outperforms the baseline STM of $3.6\%$.
In addition, we report the result on the DAVIS testing split and also shows best results of $78.1\%$, surpassing STM by a significant margin($+5.9$). By employing similar approaches in LCM together with other tricks such as better backbone, strong segmentation head, multi-scale testing and model ensemble, we achieve $84.1\%$ on the DAVIS challenge split and rank the 1st in the DAVIS 2020 challenge semi-supervised VOS task.
\textbf{DAVIS 2016}\cite{davis2016} consists of 20 videos annotated with high-quality masks each for a single target object. As shown in Table~\ref{table:davis2016}, LCM also achieves state-of-the-art performance. Compared to other methods, LCM is slightly higher than KMN of $0.2\%$. Since DAVIS 2016 is relatively a simple dataset and its performance highly relies on the precision of segmentation detail. A possible reason is that the Hide-and-Seek can provide more precise boundaries as described in KMN. Compared to the baseline STM, LCM shows better accuracy ($89.3$vs.$90.7$).
We also report the running time on DAVIS2016. We use 1 Tesla P100 GPU for inference. The increased running time brought by PGM and ORM is no more than 6\% compared with the baseline STM. We also compare it with other existing methods and our LCM maintains a comparable fast inference speed with higher performance.
\begin{table}
\centering
\input{tables/davis2016}
\caption{The quantitative evaluation on DAVIS-2016 validation dataset. The running time of STM is our reimplement result.}
\label{table:davis2016}
\end{table}
\begin{figure*}[h]
\begin{center}
\setlength{\fboxrule}{0pt}
\fbox{\includegraphics[width=0.95\linewidth]{./figures/fig6.pdf}}
\end{center}
\caption{Qualitative results of our proposed LCM. Our model is more robust under challenging situation such as occlusion, appearance change and similar objects.}
\label{fig:viz1}
\end{figure*}
\subsection{Qualitative Results. }
We show the qualitative results compared with memory-based method STM in Figure~\ref{fig:viz1}. We use the author's officially released pre-computed results.
The result shows that LCM can reduce typical errors in memory-based method and is more robust under challenging situation such as occlusion, appearance change and similar objects.
\subsection{Ablation Study}
We conduct an ablation study on DAVIS 2017 validation set to demonstrate the effectiveness of our approach.
\textbf{Network Sub-module. }
We experimentally analyze the effectiveness of our proposed three sub-modules. In this experiment, we do not apply pre-training step for saving time and directly use DAVIS and Youtube-VOS to train our model. The result is shown in Table~\ref{table:ablation1}. When applying all three proposed modules, LCM achieves 79.2$\%$ on DAVIS 2017 validation set without pre-training. The performance drops to 77.8$\%$ and 78.4$\%$ respectively When we disable Position Guidance Module or Object Relation Module. Without both modules, the result degrades to 76.9$\%$, which demonstrates the importance of these two modules. Furthermore, when disabling Global Retrieval Module, the performance heavily drops from 79.2$\%$ to 67.5$\%$. The reason is that Global Retrieval Module is the fundamental module of LCM otherwise a large amount of information is absent without memory pool.
\textbf{Training Strategy. }
We experimentally analyze the impact of our training strategy. The result is shown in Table~\ref{table:ablation2}. When only conducting pre-training and training without temporal limit, the performance achieves 82.9$\%$, which is already a state-of-the-art performance. When only conducting pre-training and training as sequence, the result degrades to 80.7$\%$.The reason is that small sampling interval makes the model incapable to learn appearance change and fast motion. Consequently, our framework has the best performance when combining all three training stages.
\section{Conclusion}
This paper investigates the problem of memory-based video object segmentation(VOS) and proposes Learning position and target Consistency of Memory-based video object segmentation(LCM). We follow memory mechanism and introduce Global Retrieval Module(GRM) to conduct pixel-level matching. Moreover, we design Position Guidance Module(PGM) for learning position consistency. And we integrate object-level information with Object Relation Module(ORM). Our approach achieves state-of-the-art performance on VOS benchmark.
\begin{table}
\centering
\input{tables/ablation1}
\caption{Ablation study of the network sub-module on DAVIS 2017 validation without pre-training.}
\label{table:ablation1}
\end{table}
\begin{table}
\centering
\input{tables/ablation2}
\caption{Ablation study of the training strategy on DAVIS 2017 validation.}
\label{table:ablation2}
\end{table}
{\small
\input{cvpr.bbl}
\bibliographystyle{IEEEtran}
}
\end{document}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 291 |
Kwesi Pratt: Rawlingses Have Damaged NDC Beyond Repairs
Kwesi Pratt
Insight newspaper editor, Kwesi Pratt Jnr. says no one can expect the Rawlingses to return to the campaign trail of the ruling National Democratic Congress after they have virtually destroyed it.
It will therefore be a waste of anybody�s time who tries to woo them back to the party expecting Mr. and Mrs Rawlings to campaign for President Mills in the 2012 general elections.
Kwesi Pratt spoke on Radio Gold�s Alhaji and Alhaji programme, and said the two-and-half-year rule of the Mills administration has had its key opposition from within the party - from the camp of former first lady, Nana Konadu Agyeman-Rawlings, rather than the opposition New Patriotic Party.
He also said there was nothing wrong if somebody contests the sitting president for the party�s presidential candidature, but what was out of place and had become a problem was the character of the campaign itself.
�It has been reduced to a campaign of insults, slander and vilification. A campaign in which members of the National Democratic Congress are proclaiming publicly that over the last two-and-half years, nothing has happened; that over the last two-and-half years, the country has been in reverse; that indeed the team in government is nothing but Team B, that the President himself was asleep on the job��.
Kwesi Pratt said given developments within the party, the only way to settle the serious contestations is to go for congress, pointing out that there are divided forces within the ruling party as to what to do with the Rawlingses.
One school of thought, he said, holds that Nana Konadu Agyeman-Rawlings should not contest the president at all because her doing so will divide the party � an opinion he disagrees with; and others who think Nana Konadu will suffer a humiliating defeat at the NDC Congress to select a flagbearer but also believe she must suffer that humiliation so at the end of the day, concessions would be made to woo the Rawlingses and to beg them to return to the campaign.
�There is another group, which perhaps rightly, says that look, given all that has happened, if we went to congress and Nana Konadu was given a humiliating defeat, even if the Rawlingses agree to campaign for the party their campaign will be ineffective, and I am inclined to agree with that group. �Listen to what the Rawlingses have said about this administration� Do you think that in 2012, because of what they have said and the weight of what they have said, they will be in a position to campaign for a Mills administration, a Mills candidature? Certainly not possible.
�Why, would President Mills have gained his sight by a miracle by 2012? They are the people who are saying that the man is blind, he can�t function. So if he is blind today and cannot function and so on, by what calculation and so on can they come and tell us that by 2012, his eyes will be ok and be perfect and will be able to function?
They are the people who are telling us that for the past two-and-half years, this country has been in reverse. What are they going to say in 2012? � So look, expecting the Rawlingses to campaign for President Mills in 2012, is like expecting them to lick back their own sputum, and I don�t think that that is going to happen so people should not waste their time and not waste anybody�s time thinking that the Rawlingses are going to be on the bandwagon, they are going to campaign for President Mills and that indeed their campaign is so crucial. They have already done irreparable damage and that damage cannot be corrected without denting their own credibility and I do not think that they have any interest in denting their own image.�
Kwesi Pratt said while he saw nothing wrong in the visit by members of the NDC to its founder, J.J. Rawlings to discuss the interest of the party, he found it unacceptable, disgusting and an affront to womanhood that anyone would attempt to persuade Rawlings to impress upon his wife, Nana Konadu Rawlings to stand down from contesting President Mills. He said it is not the duty of husbands to decide the careers of their wives.
Source: myjoyonline.com
AMA Denies Allegations
25 Traffic Offenders Arrested
Apiate Explosion: Gov't Donates GH¢200,000 To Victims
Apiate Explosion Shot 'Coaltar' Into Victim's Stomach – Doctor | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
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{"url":"https:\/\/google.academickids.com\/encyclopedia\/index.php\/Thermodynamic_temperature","text":"# Thermodynamic temperature\n\nThermodynamic temperature is a measure, in kelvins (K) of temperature for thermodynamics, with a uniquely defined zero point at absolute zero.\n\nA temperature of 0 K is called \"absolute zero,\" and coincides with the minimum molecular activity (i.e., thermal energy) of matter.\n\nThermodynamic temperature was formerly called \"absolute temperature.\"\n\nIn practice, the International Temperature Scale of 1990 (ITS-90) serves as the basis for high-accuracy temperature measurements in science and technology.\n\n## Derivation of thermodynamic temperature\n\nThere are many possible scales of temperature, derived from a variety of observations of physical phenomena. The thermodynamic temperature can be shown to have special properties, and in particular can be seen to be uniquely defined (up to some constant multiplicative factor) by considering the efficiency of idealized heat engines.\n\nLoosely stated, temperature controls the flow of heat between two systems and the universe, as we would expect any natural system, tends to progress so as to maximize entropy. Thus, we would expect there to be some relationship between temperature and entropy. In order to find this relationship let's first consider the relationship between heat, work and temperature. A heat engine is a device for converting heat into mechanical work and analysis of the Carnot heat engine provides the necessary relationships we seek. The work from a heat engine corresponds to the difference between the heat put into the system at the high temperature, qH and the heat ejected at the low temperature, qC. The efficiency is the work divided by the heat put into the system or:\n\n[itex]\n\n\\textrm{efficiency} = \\frac {w_{cy}}{q_H} = \\frac{q_H-q_C}{q_H} = 1 - \\frac{q_C}{q_H} [itex] (1)\n\nwhere wcy is the work done per cycle. We see that the efficiency depends only on qC\/qH. Because qC and qH correspond to heat transfer at the temperatures TC and TH, respectively, qC\/qH should be some function of these temperatures:\n\n[itex]\n\n\\frac{q_C}{q_H} = f(T_H,T_C) [itex] (2)\n\nCarnot's theorem states that all reversible engines operating between the same heat reservoirs are equally efficient. Thus, a heat engine operating between T1 and T3 must have the same efficiency as one consisting of two cycles, one between T1 and T2, and the second between T2 and T3. This can only be the case if:\n\n[itex]\n\nq_{13} = \\frac{q_1 q_2} {q_2 q_3} [itex]\n\nwhich implies:\n\n[itex]\n\nq_13 = f(T_1,T_3) = f(T_1,T_2)f(T_2,T_3) [itex]\n\nSince the first function is independent of T2, this temperature must cancel on the right side, meaning f(T1,T3) is of the form g(T1)\/g(T3) (i.e. f(T1,T3) = f(T1,T2)f(T2,T3) = g(T1)\/g(T2)\u00d7g(T2)\/g(T3) = g(T1)\/g(T3)), where g is a function of a single temperature. We can now choose a temperature scale with the property that:\n\n[itex]\n\n\\frac{q_C}{q_H} = \\frac{T_C}{T_H} [itex] (3)\n\nSubstituting Equation 3 back into Equation 1 gives a relationship for the efficiency in terms of temperature:\n\n[itex]\n\n\\textrm{efficiency} = 1 - \\frac{q_C}{q_H} = 1 - \\frac{T_C}{T_H} [itex] (4)\n\nNotice that for TC=0 K the efficiency is 100% and that efficiency becomes greater than 100% below 0 K. Since an efficiency greater than 100% violates the first law of thermodynamics, this implies that 0 K is the minimum possible temperature. In fact the lowest temperature so far obtained in a macroscopic system was 20 nK, which was achieved in 1995 at NIST. Subtracting the right hand side of Equation 4 from the middle portion and rearranging gives:\n\n[itex]\n\n\\frac {q_H}{T_H} - \\frac{q_C}{T_C} = 0 [itex]\n\nwhere the negative sign indicates heat ejected from the system. This relationship suggests the existence of a state function, S, defined by:\n\n[itex]\n\ndS = \\frac {dq_\\mathrm{rev}}{T} [itex] (5)\n\nwhere the subscript indicates a reversible process. The change of this state function around any cycle is zero, as is necessary for any state function. This function corresponds to the entropy of the system, which we described previously. We can rearranging Equation 5 to get a new definition for temperature in terms of entropy and heat:\n\n[itex]\n\nT = \\frac{dq_\\mathrm{rev}}{dS} [itex]\n\nFor a system, where entropy S may be a function S(E) of its energy E, the thermodynamic termperature T is given by:\n\n[itex]\n\n\\frac{1}{T} = \\frac{dS}{dE} [itex]\n\nThe reciprocal of the thermodynamic termperature is the rate of increase of entropy with energy.\n\n\u2022 Art and Cultures\n\u2022 Countries of the World\u00a0(http:\/\/www.academickids.com\/encyclopedia\/index.php\/Countries)\n\u2022 Space and Astronomy","date":"2021-05-13 03:15:36","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": false, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.8014674186706543, \"perplexity\": 819.7295481632034}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-21\/segments\/1620243992721.31\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210513014954-20210513044954-00434.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
"""Leetcode 987. Vertical Order Traversal of a Binary Tree
Medium
URL: https://leetcode.com/problems/vertical-order-traversal-of-a-binary-tree/
Given a binary tree, return the vertical order traversal of its nodes values.
For each node at position (X, Y), its left and right children respectively will be
at positions (X-1, Y-1) and (X+1, Y-1).
Running a vertical line from X = -infinity to X = +infinity, whenever the vertical
line touches some nodes, we report the values of the nodes in order from top to
bottom (decreasing Y coordinates).
If two nodes have the same position, then the value of the node that is reported
first is the value that is smaller.
Return an list of non-empty reports in order of X coordinate.
Every report will have a list of values of nodes.
Example 1:
3
/ \
9 20
/ \
15 7
Input: [3,9,20,null,null,15,7]
Output: [[9],[3,15],[20],[7]]
Explanation:
Without loss of generality, we can assume the root node is at position (0, 0):
Then, the node with value 9 occurs at position (-1, -1);
The nodes with values 3 and 15 occur at positions (0, 0) and (0, -2);
The node with value 20 occurs at position (1, -1);
The node with value 7 occurs at position (2, -2).
Example 2:
1
/ \
2 3
/ \ / \
4 5 6 7
Input: [1,2,3,4,5,6,7]
Output: [[4],[2],[1,5,6],[3],[7]]
Explanation:
The node with value 5 and the node with value 6 have the same position according to the given scheme.
However, in the report "[1,5,6]", the node value of 5 comes first since 5 is smaller than 6.
Note:
- The tree will have between 1 and 1000 nodes.
- Each node's value will be between 0 and 1000.
"""
# Definition for a binary tree node.
class TreeNode(object):
def __init__(self, val):
self.val = val
self.left = None
self.right = None
class SolutionOrderValsDictSortedLevelOrderValsDict(object):
def verticalTraversal(self, root):
"""
:type root: TreeNode
:rtype: List[List[int]]
Time complexity: O(n+n*logn), where n is number of nodes.
Space complexity: O(n).
"""
from collections import defaultdict
from collections import deque
# Create dict: vertical order->list(vals).
vorder_vals_d = defaultdict(list)
# Apply level traversal by queue.
queue = deque([(root, 0)])
while queue:
# Create dict: level vertical order->list(vals)
level_vorder_vals_d = defaultdict(list)
for i in range(len(queue)):
current, vorder = queue.pop()
level_vorder_vals_d[vorder].append(current.val)
if current.left:
queue.appendleft((current.left, vorder - 1))
if current.right:
queue.appendleft((current.right, vorder + 1))
# After level traversal, append sorted vals to vorder_vals_d.
for vorder, vals in level_vorder_vals_d.items():
vorder_vals_d[vorder].extend(sorted(vals))
# Sort dict by vertical order to return vals.
return [vals for vorder, vals in sorted(vorder_vals_d.items())]
def main():
# Input: [3,9,20,null,null,15,7]
# Output: [[9],[3,15],[20],[7]]
root = TreeNode(3)
root.left = TreeNode(9)
root.right = TreeNode(20)
root.right.left = TreeNode(15)
root.right.right = TreeNode(7)
print SolutionOrderValsDictSortedLevelOrderValsDict().verticalTraversal(root)
# Input: [1,2,3,4,5,6,7]
# Output: [[4],[2],[1,5,6],[3],[7]]
root = TreeNode(1)
root.left = TreeNode(2)
root.right = TreeNode(3)
root.left.left = TreeNode(4)
root.left.right = TreeNode(5)
root.right.left = TreeNode(6)
root.right.right = TreeNode(7)
print SolutionOrderValsDictSortedLevelOrderValsDict().verticalTraversal(root)
# Input: [0,2,1,3,null,null,null,4,5,null,7,6,null,10,8,11,9]
# Output: [[4,10,11],[3,6,7],[2,5,8,9],[0],[1]]
root = TreeNode(0)
root.left = TreeNode(2)
root.right = TreeNode(1)
root.left.left = TreeNode(3)
root.left.right = None
root.right.left = None
root.right.right = None
root.left.left.left = TreeNode(4)
root.left.left.right = TreeNode(5)
root.left.left.left.right = TreeNode(7)
root.left.left.right.left = TreeNode(6)
root.left.left.left.right.left = TreeNode(10)
root.left.left.left.right.right = TreeNode(8)
root.left.left.right.left.left = TreeNode(11)
root.left.left.right.left.right = TreeNode(9)
print SolutionOrderValsDictSortedLevelOrderValsDict().verticalTraversal(root)
if __name__ == '__main__':
main()
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 5,081 |
Q: When a cell is tapped, an annotation should be added I need to add an annotation to a map view when it is touched the any cell of the tableview. I have a method where I add the annotation viewForAnnotation and the method didSelectRowAtIndexPath.
I could not make the logical connection that is where to call the method and how?
Could you please help me?
viewForAnnotation method
- (MKAnnotationView *)mapView:(MKMapView *)mapView2 viewForAnnotation:(id <MKAnnotation>)annotation
{
if ([annotation isKindOfClass:[MKUserLocation class]])
{
return nil;
}
else if ([annotation isKindOfClass:[CustomAnnotation class]])
{
static NSString * const identifier = @"MyCustomAnnotation";
MKAnnotationView* annotationView = [mapView2 dequeueReusableAnnotationViewWithIdentifier:identifier];
if (annotationView)
{
annotationView.annotation = annotation;
}
else
{
annotationView = [[MKAnnotationView alloc] initWithAnnotation:annotation
reuseIdentifier:identifier];
}
UIImageView * ecz = [[UIImageView alloc]init];
ecz.frame = CGRectMake(0, 0, 65, 49);
ecz.image = [UIImage imageNamed:@"indicator.png"];
UIImageView * vstd = [[UIImageView alloc]init];
vstd.frame = CGRectMake(33, 10, 24, 22);
vstd.image = [UIImage imageNamed:@"indicator_ziyaret_gri"];
UIImageView * nbox = [[UIImageView alloc]init];
nbox.frame = CGRectMake(48, -6, 22, 22);
nbox.image = [UIImage imageNamed:@"numara_kutusu"];
[annotationView addSubview:ecz];
[annotationView addSubview:vstd];
UILabel *index = [[UILabel alloc] initWithFrame:CGRectMake(5,4,15,15)];
index.text = @"1";
index.textColor = [UIColor whiteColor];
[index setFont:[UIFont fontWithName:@"Arial-BoldMT" size:18]];
[nbox addSubview:index];
[index setBackgroundColor:[UIColor clearColor]];
[annotationView addSubview:nbox];
annotationView.canShowCallout = YES;
return annotationView;
}
return nil;
}
didSelectRowAtIndexPath method
-(void)tableView:(UITableView *)tableView didSelectRowAtIndexPath:(NSIndexPath *)indexPath {
EczaneCell *cell = [tableView cellForRowAtIndexPath:indexPath];
}
A: mapView: viewForAnnotation: method is a delegate method of MapView, this method is called by the MapView internally when you ADD or, REMOVE any annotation from the mapview.
To add an annotation on TableView tap you should do the following in tableView:didSelectRowAtIndexPath:
[self.map addAnnotaion:<YOUR Annotation>];
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 2,025 |
133 best the workshops of david t smith images on, the 25 best olive green kitchen ideas on pinterest. Rustic country living room ideas, country style kitchen. 96 farmhouse blue paint colors house of figs archives.
Realistic kitchen, oak kitchen cabinets, country style, i would love to have an old farm house with a kitchen that. French country farmhouse kitchen french country cottage. Building a vintage inspired farmhouse kitchen french. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 2,348 |
{"url":"https:\/\/itectec.com\/ubuntu\/ubuntu-how-to-pause-resume-download-in-youtube-video\/","text":"Is there any way to pause and resume download? I use both Chromium and Mozilla.\n\nYou can do that with -c option. For instance, if you previously started a download using:\nyoutube-dl <some_youtube_URL>\n\nyoutube-dl -c <some_youtube_URL>","date":"2021-09-16 15:03:35","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.26455390453338623, \"perplexity\": 4318.9925009882045}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2021-39\/segments\/1631780053657.29\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20210916145123-20210916175123-00678.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Operation Gatling, which took place on 19 October 1978, was a joint-force operation into Zambia launched by the Air Force and Army of Rhodesia; the main forces which contributed were Rhodesian Special Air Service and Rhodesian Light Infantry paratroopers. Gatling primary target, just north-east of central Lusaka, Zambia's capital, was the formerly white-owned Westlands Farm, which had been transformed into ZIPRA's main headquarters and training base under the name "Freedom Camp". ZIPRA presumed that Rhodesia would never dare to attack a site so close to Lusaka. About 4,000 guerrillas underwent training at Freedom Camp, with senior ZIPRA staff also on site.
The Rhodesian operation's other targets were Chikumbi, north of Lusaka, and Mkushi Camp; all three were to be attacked more or less simultaneously in a coordinated sweep across Zambia. Assaulting targets deep inside Zambia was a first for the Rhodesian forces; previously only guerrillas near the border had been attacked.
Background
Operation Gatling was divided up into three phases when it was being planned by the Rhodesian Security Forces.
Phase 1:The first phase of the operation would involve a series of airstrikes by the Air Force against the ZIPRA base situated at Westlands Farm.
Phase 2:The second phase of the operation would involve an attack by the SAS made on the ZIPRA base at Mkushi, which was approximately 125km north-east of the Zambian capital Lusaka. This attack was planned to commence at exactly the same time as the attack by the Air Force on the camp at Westlands Farm (or Freedom camp as it was called by the insurgents belonging to the ZIPRA).
Phase 3:The third, and final, phase of the operation would involve an attack by the Rhodesian Light Infantry, the RLI, on another ZIPRA base located near the Great North Road, approximately 15km north of Lusaka. The camp was referred to as the CGT-2 (Communist Guerrilla Training Camp) by the Rhodesians.
The Operation
Led by Squadron Leader Chris Dixon, who identified himself to Lusaka Airport tower as "Green Leader", a Rhodesian Air Force group flew into Zambia at very low altitudes (thereby avoiding Zambian radar) and took control of the country's airspace for about a quarter of an hour during the initial assault on Westlands Farm, informing Lusaka tower that the attack was against "Rhodesian dissidents, and not against Zambia", and that Rhodesian Hawker Hunters were circling the Zambian airfields under orders to shoot down any fighter that attempted to take off. The Zambians obeyed all of Green Leader's instructions, made no attempt to resist and temporarily halted civil air traffic. The Security Forces used the Rufunsa airstrip in eastern Zambia as a forward base against the guerrillas' bases.
Aftermath
During the course of Operation Gatling the RSF suffered only minor casualties during the three-day operation, and afterward claimed to have killed over 1,500 ZIPRA cadres, as well as some Cuban instructors. A further 1,348 were wounded and 198 were missing during the course of the three-day operation. In addition to those losses ZIPRA Logistics Officer Mountain Guru was captured by the security forces.
In comparison, only one member of the SAS, trooper Jeff Collett, had been killed. Three other members of the security forces were wounded during Operation Gatling. Two out of the three men wounded were helicopter pilots Mark Dawson and Roelf Oeloffse, who sustained injuries when their Alouette K-Car was hit by cannon fire, causing it to crash. Dawson suffered injuries to one of his legs and Roelf sustained injuries to his back. In total, the Rhodesians only suffered four casualties and lost one helicopter during the operation.
References
Bibliography
Gatling
1978 in Zambia | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 9,596 |
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