It was the time of in-between. The strong south-easterlies of the dry season had faded and daily the island people watched big thunderheads grow over the glassy sea to the north-west. Soon, heavy rains would break and it would be a little cooler. Matthias woke with the day, the way he always did. He turned on his back and surveyed the wooden poles and palm thatch above him. Better get up, he thought. He did so and walked between the huts, past the little cargo-cult shrine with its brightly painted model aeroplane dangling on a string, and down to the…