EPILOGUE
I HAVE COME to regard Rapa Nui, a tiny island in a huge ocean of water, as a metaphor for our planet, a similar speck in the ocean of space. Against all odds, isolated for perhaps a thousand years or more, the people of Rapa Nui created a civilization. It is all there, the hopes and aspirations of all of us, for our children, for ourselves. In the extraordinary voyages of the people who went there first, we can see the curiosity and courage that impels the human race onwards. In their rituals, we can see our own longing for the existence of some power beyond us. In their history we can see man's inhumanity to man writ large in the ravages of imperialism, and more than anything, on that windswept isle bereft of trees, we can see the inevitable result of our casual disregard for the land and water on which we find ourselves. And I suppose, on a more personal level, in its human tragedies, we can see our own.
I know I will remember for the rest of my life the dam aged souls I met on Rapa Nui, those men whose lives had been torn apart by a terrible mistake. Seth who'd spent his whole life after Anakena in his garage trying to read rongorongo, and Dave who was all hail fellow well met but who didn't seem to me to have any real friends, and who had a brother who would rather send money than come to his funeral. Then there was Jasper who had to go on proving himself over and over, and Andrew who went through life in disguise. Only Gordon, it seemed to me, had obstinately clung to some form of normalcy, no matter how deep his guilt. I hope he and Andrew both found some peace at Anakena at last.
Most of all there was Mike, his soul corroded by obsession and revenge. I don't like to think that human beings are irretrievable, but if they are, then Mike is one who is. He is pleading insanity, of course, and it may work. His life was a series of horrendous losses—a father who left when Mike was a baby; an adored stepsister who died tragically; a stepfather who also left him after his stepsister's death and the divorce, never to be heard from again; and a mother, fragile at the best of times, who descended into acute depression and who eventually took her own life.
Perhaps people survive the best they can, and in Mike's case, it was the desire for revenge that kept him going. He had a checkered career as a film director and editor, given his substance abuse problem, but he managed to hold it together until he happened to get a job with Kent Clarke Films on a documentary featuring Jasper Robinson. Jasper was arrogant and fast and loose with the truth, but hugely successful, and it was all too much for Mike. It was then, perhaps, that his descent into what surely must be madness began, as he methodically and patiently began to plan and then execute his revenge.
Fate has dealt a better hand to some of the others. Kent Clarke took the footage she had of Rapa Nui and persuaded Rory to be her on-camera expert. The resulting documentary, considerably more accurate than the one she would have done with Jasper, won a prize at some film festival, and Kent Clarke Films continues to be a growing concern. Her next documentary is going to feature Andrew Jones. He did a farewell performance for a rather select audience—the last remaining delegates to the Moai Congress—the night before we left and stunned everyone with his talent.
Before we left Rapa Nui, Moira and I went back to the cemetery we'd visited our first day. Victoria Pakarati was there, too, tending a grave. It was a simple white cross like the others, and it said only Flora Pedersen, July 3, 1971— August 18, 1975. Above that was a drawing of a little bird. A rosebush grew on the grave.
"Gordon told me about Flora," Victoria said. "I've decided that I will look after this grave from now on. Felipe and Maria Tepano have done it for years, but it's too hard for them. I will tend the others, as well, for Dave and Seth. I don't think they have any family that cares. I suppose it's right that they should be here together, the two of them and little Flora. Maybe Gordon will be here someday, too, in the far distant future, I hope."
"How is Gabriela?" Moira said.
"She's going to be fine," Victoria said. "I know words are inadequate, but thank you."
It was a long and exhausting flight home, especially for Moira. I could tell there was something she wanted to say to me, and I just waited until she got around to it. "About Rory," she said, finally.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "I won't say anything to anybody, including Clive. Wild horses, if you'll forgive the expression, wouldn't drag it out of me."
"There's nothing to tell," she said. "Honestly. I won't say I didn't think about it, or that I didn't find Rory attractive. But I love Clive. It was just a little interlude, that mid-life crisis you accused me having before we left, and nothing of any substance happened."
"Okay," I said. I just couldn't think of anything to say that would be appropriate.
"You're thinking that I kissed him a couple of times," she said.
"No, I'm not," I said. I was, of course.
"Yes, you are, but that was as far as it went. I suppose I've been feeling a bit… I don't know, as if life may have passed me by," she said.
"It hasn't," I said.
"I wasn't entirely truthful about my medical results," she said.
"I figured that out," I said.
"Of course you did," she said. "You figure everything out, eventually, bless your heart. The prognosis is good. I'm not making that up, but the chemo starts next week."
"Anything you need, Moira, I'll be there."
"I was hoping you might check the spa from time to time. I have a good manager, but I'd feel happier knowing she could call someone like you if she needed help. She would, too. She likes you."
"Any time," I said. "And I'll take care of McClintoch and Swain. You and Clive can just leave these things to me. Does Clive know?"
"Yes, he does," she said. "I wasn't entirely fair to him, when I said he wasn't dealing well with my illness. He has actually been terrific, once he got used to the idea. He's the one who suggested that you and I go to Rapa Nui, to have some time just the two of us, together again."
"I may have underestimated Clive," I said.
"Yes, you have," she said. "I appreciate your offer about the shop, because I'd like to have some time with Clive, too."
"The shop and your spa will be fine. Everything is going to be fine, Moira," I said.
"Yes, it is," she replied. "I wouldn't have missed this trip for anything. Despite everything that happened, I found it life-affirming in some undefinable way."
"You were very brave to get into that van with Edith."
"It was instinct. I didn't think I cared what happened to me, but when it came right down to it, I did. I'm very glad you showed up. Gordon and Andrew were wonderful. I think they meant it when they said to let us go and they would stay."
"I think everyone acquitted themselves rather well," I said.
"I think we did, too. The whole business made me realize that I am determined to get well. I will beat this, you know."
"Yes, you will," I said.
"When you came after us, did you know it was going to be Mike? Or just one of the people from Kent Clarke Films?"
"Once I realized the garden shed was the scene of the crime, I knew it was Mike," I replied. "He always sat at the end of the bar. As a left-hander, he sat where there couldn't be a right-handed person next to him. I guess, given his alcohol problem, he didn't want to spill a drop."
"As I said, you figure everything out eventually," she said. "He was poor little Flora's stepbrother, right? Margaret Pedersen's child by a previous marriage?"
"Right," I said.
"Did he shoot the horse on the shore?"
"I have no idea," I replied. "Maybe just seeing a dead horse gave him the idea. He was very creative, wasn't he? He planned everything just so, but he also took advantage of opportunities as they presented themselves. It's unfortunate he used his talents for such terrible ends."