Chapter 4

There seemed to be no doorbell, and it was difficult for the old man to find a place to knock on the bamboo door. He tried a hard rap on the frame, but the result was a mere muted thud that he knew wouldn't carry within.

It was all of a piece, he supposed. People who were looking for visitors didn't seclude themselves on remote islands in the middle of a vast ocean. It had been tough enough to even find the place; then he'd had to take three different aircraft of steadily diminishing size to even get near and finish his journey by chartering a boat for a two-day trip. The whole trip had been tedious, one he expected that few were willing to make, and he could scarcely hope for a welcome mat in front of the door.

Still, he'd come this far and wasn't about to let a last minor obstacle dissuade him from his purpose. Finally he resorted to beating on the door itself with the flat of his hand, which itself also produced little sound but did serve to rattle the door slightly.

Even so, several tries were needed before it was at last opened by a lithe young man, his deeply tanned face showing a totally blank, unwelcoming expression. "Yes?" he said in a voice that matched his visage.

"I'm looking for Amanda Meiersdottir," the visitor told him.

"Sorry, no-one by that name here," said the younger man, beginning to push the door closed again.

But the old man's cane snaked quickly into the small opening, blocking his effort. "I think there is," he said quickly.

The door was abruptly reopened, this time fully, to display the young man's full, muscular physique. He stared unsmiling at the visitor, his eyes darting quickly around to assure himself that no-one else lurked. Satisfied, he returned his gaze to the man at his door.

"Who are you?" he demanded rudely.

"More to the point, who are you?" returned the visitor.

For a moment it appeared that the young man wouldn't answer. Finally, observing the unthreatening presence before him, he did. "I'm Carlos Igwanda," he said. "And again I ask—"

But he was cut off by a sudden outburst of laughter. "The hell you are!" exclaimed the old man.

Taken aback, the younger one abruptly stopped speaking and simply stared.

"Boy, I knew Carlos and you sure aren't he," continued the old man. "He was black as the ace of spades, and besides he'd be older than I am. So who the hell—? My God," he suddenly dropped his voice to a mutter. "You're his kid, aren't you? No, his grandkid, Jesus, has time passed."

The face in the doorway seemed to relax a bit. "You knew my grandfather?" he asked.

"Your granddad saved my life, twice," ruminated the visitor. "He's the reason I need this"—he waggled the cane—"and he's also the reason I'm alive to use it. But never mind, boy, he'll do, how about you open up and let me talk to him?"

Immediately the face hardened again. "My grandfather ... passed away three years ago," the young man said coldly. "As you should know if you were a friend of his."

"No, I didn't. God, I'm sorry. But it's still your grandmother I really came to see, will you let me in?"

The man at the door made no move. "Sir, my grandmother sees no-one. She's getting along—"

"A hundred and six by now I guess," interrupted the old man. "Or is it a hundred and seven? I don't remember her birthday. I'm not a whole lot younger, ninety-five last time I checked. She'll see me, if her mind's still right. Is it? No Alzheimer's, nothing like that?"

"Sir, my grandmother is fine in every way."

"Then tell her my name, John Toshimura. She'll know."

This time the door closed firmly without resistance. But within seconds it reopened, this time to a much more welcoming expression on young Igwanda's face.

"Please come in, sir," he said with a smile. "And please accept my apologies for your welcome, or lack of it," he continued as the old man crossed the threshold. "The news media try to contact Grandmother from time to time, and she doesn't want to talk to them. She's told me to just deny that she's here at all."

Toshimura looked up at him in amusement. "Do I look like a cub reporter to you?" he asked wryly.

"Er, well, no sir, but—"

"He's sometimes a tad overprotective, but he means well," came a feminine voice from within.

"Amanda!" the old man expostulated.

"Hello, John," she said. "Come where I can see you, will you? Oh, there you are. I don't move as spryly as I used to. How very good of you to come."

She was sitting easily on a divan as he shuffled around the corner to view her. For all of the years since their last meeting she looked little different; her hair was white now instead of blonde, her face somewhat—though only a little—wrinkled; but her eyes were still the same vivid, penetrating blue they had been, and her native intelligence shown through them.

"I gather you only now heard," she continued. "Or was it that you were only now able to travel? Whichever, your visit is very welcome."

"Thanks, Amanda," he said. "It's neither one, in fact, and the first time I heard, if you mean Carlos' death, was at your front door. I'm so very sorry."

"Yes," she said, sighing. "So am I. We had a lot of years, but in the end the damn cancer got him. He was a bit older, you know. He got to a hundred and ten, but the last year, it wasn't good for him. It was his time. At the end, you know, he did it himself, refused to keep making himself a burden, as he saw it. Saved up the pain pills, wouldn't take them until he had enough, then took them all at once. He said good night before he left me."

"Amanda..."

"Thanks. He was right, for him. I still don't know if he was right for me, but probably he was. He usually was. He surely was back on Eden, wasn't he?"

"Oh, yes," said Toshimura, remembering.

"Three times," she went on reminiscently. "Or was it four? You weren't there on the last trip, but it was the same, I know I told you when we got back. Always right, and always saving us because he was. I told him one time to be wrong once in a while just so we'd know he was human. He ignored me."

"Well, I, for one, am glad he did a couple of times," Toshimura said wryly.

"I'll bet you are. I expect he was right that last time, too. It was going to be a pretty nasty way to die." She bowed her head sadly, then looked up. "Well. It's three years now, no need to keep dwelling. But you didn't know?" Her visitor shook his head. "Then to what do I owe the honor? It's a little hard to get here, I know. Just a pilgrimage to visit old friends?"