"I almost envy you that," I said. "Except for the stitches."
"I don't know about you, but I am really out of date," she said, tapping the guidebook she'd been reading on and off between naps. "Did you know they now call Easter Island, Rapa Nui?"
"I think I heard that somewhere," I said. "Really, though, my knowledge of the place is limited to the odd documentary on TV."
"Rapa Nui," she repeated. "Two words and it's the place. Run together as one word, it's the language they speak. It can also refer to the people. Did you know the people on the island came from Polynesia somewhere around sixteen hundred years ago and lived there in isolation for almost fourteen hundred years? That's amazing, isn't it? I guess that's why those statues aren't found anywhere else but there. What are you reading by the way?"
"A camera manual," I said. "Rob gave me a lovely little digital camera before we left. I'm supposed to bring back lots of pictures. He said it was all automatic, I just have to point the thing and push the button, but the manual is about an inch thick. I've been through it twice, and so far all I've managed to figure out is how to put the strap on it. Third time lucky, I'm thinking."
"That was nice of Rob," she said. "Keep reading, because I want a picture of myself with those statutes."
"Don't make me nervous," I said. "Actually this camera was a peace-offering of sorts. I asked Rob if he would mind keeping an eye on my kitchen renovation while I was away, and he said, in something of a huff, that if I insisted on having my own place I would have to deal with my own kitchen renovation. But then he felt bad and went out and bought me this camera for what he has taken to calling the only vacation I've had in my life. Not true. I'm sure I had one once before. I just can't recall when or where."
She laughed. "You could move in together."
"Don't you start," I said.
"We're going to have fun," she said, somewhere over Brazil. "Look at this. There's something called the Rapa Nui Moai Congress on while we're there." She pointed to the inflight magazine.
"What or who is a moe-eye?" I said. "Or is it what or who are moe-eye?"
"I think that's the name of those giant stone carvings. We're going to hug moai," she said, spelling the word for me. "And, if I have read this correctly, nouns are the same in both the singular and plural. You have to grasp which is intended from the context."
"I see," I said.
"The congress is being held at our hotel," she said. "According to this, experts from around the world are coming to Rapa Nui for the meeting. There will be lectures and field trips and everything. Maybe we could crash some of the sessions. It's the first three days we're there, so we could learn about everything and then go see it for ourselves."
"I hope they're not noisy," I said.
"You really are a poop. Admit it," she said. "It sounds exciting."
"I think most of those academic conferences are really boring," I said. "So-called experts droning on about some tiny theory they have."
She patted my arm. "Thank you for coming with me," she said. "I know the timing wasn't ideal, and I want you to know I really appreciate it."
"This camera manual is making me crabby," I said. "Or maybe it's more that just before I left Rob told me he's thinking of retiring. He just kind of sprang it on me as I was packing."
"He's a bit young for that, isn't he?" she said.
"Not really. He went into the RCMP right out of school. They have a new early retirement package, so he's thinking about it."
"That's okay, isn't it?" she said.
"What's he going to do for the rest of his life? Follow me around?"
"Ah ha," she said. "Now we're getting down to it."
"He did threaten, I mean suggest, that he could come with me on my buying trips, but really, they're work. I told him he'd be bored if he came with me."
"What did he say to that?"
"Something along the lines of Bored in Paris? Bored in Tuscany? Mexico? I don't think so."
"He has a point. Maybe he just wants to do something else now, just like me. Carpe diem and all that."
I thought that was enough Latin for now. "You told me what was on your To Do list, but not what you won't do anymore," I said.
"I'll never eat beets again," she said.
If anybody thought that heading that far into the South Pacific got you palm trees, thatched huts, and sandy beaches— and I may have been one of those people—they'd soon be disabused of that notion. There are trees, but they are sparse, and lush is a word that would never enter your mind as you looked around. Instead, the island is all grassy meadows and jagged coastline, volcanic outcrops and little walled gardens, soaring cliffs where the sea has pounded away forever, a lonely place in many ways, where the wind roars all the time, birds swirl and shriek overhead, and dust settles like a second skin on everything, insinuating its way into your nose, your mouth, your pockets, your hair. And everywhere you look there is the empty horizon and endless sea, disorienting in its vastness. Looking around from the parking lot of the tiny airport, I felt as if Moira and I were clinging to a piece of driftwood, a large one to be sure, and could only go where the current would take us. In a way, I wasn't wrong.
Our hotel was just outside Hanga Roa, the main town. Perhaps I should say it was just outside the only town. The hotel was a pleasant enough spot, a sprawling low-rise whitewashed structure with red roof, a drive lined with hibiscus and large cactus, and a view of the ocean from its vantage point atop a cliff that took my breath away. A large hand-lettered banner was strung across the main entrance: lorana, it said, whatever that meant. Welcome Delegates to the First Annual Rapa Nut Moai Congress.
The hotel lobby was open on three sides to the breeze, with wood columns beautifully carved with birds and animals supporting a thatched roof. It was also something of an obstacle course. There were cables crisscrossing the floor that required careful attention if one preferred not to end up nose to red carpet. People were milling about everywhere, and given the day's only flight had come in, piles of luggage dotted the area and there was something of a line at the check-in counter.
A rather sturdy-looking man with reddish hair and beard, a pronounced paunch, and denim jeans and shirt adorned with a red bandana around his neck was standing just inside the door. "Hey, girls," he said, "lorana. Hello. I don't suppose one of you would be Hottie Matu'a would you?"
"What?" we said in unison.
"Oops. I guess not. Sorry. You girls here for the Moai Congress?"
I braced myself. Nobody calls Moira a girl.
"I'm afraid not," Moira said. "We certainly wish we were, though. Is there any way of signing up at the door?" My jaw dropped.
"I dunno," he said. "It was kind of by invitation only. But for two girls as pretty as you, there should be a way. Maybe I could speak to the organizers."
This guy is dead meat, I thought.
"Would you mind asking for us?" Moira said, extending her hand. "I'm Moira, and this is my friend, Lara."
"It would be a pleasure," he said after holding Moira's hand just a trifle too long. "Hey, Lynda," he added. I still had not recovered the power of speech, so I just smiled as best I could and shook hands.
"She's the quiet one, I see," the man said, inclining his head in my direction. "Cat got your tongue? I'm Dave, Dave Maddox."