Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

As they waited and watched, the approaching sun slowly pushed back the ceiling of stars. To the west, the mountains of the big island turned from black to gray to green as the sun lifted above the horizon. Close by, Arena Island emerged from the gray to become an emerald gem circled by a band of white sand. Jess stirred from his makeshift bunk on the engine hatch and motioned to Meding. It was time to bring in the net. With one arm, Jess paddled the boat along the line of floats; with the other arm, he reached down and dragged the net over the gunwale a section at a time. Fish caught in the mesh squirmed, their silver sides flashing in the bright morning sunlight. Soon their catch lay between them on the bottom of the boat. While Jess sorted the fish and put them on stringers, Meding folded and stowed the net in the bow. When the work was finished, Jess started the engine and they headed for Arena. Meding sat in the bow to watch for submerged reefs. They both laughed as a sea snake poked its head above the water, saw the boat, and quickly ducked back beneath the placid green surface of the sea.

They made their landfall in a pristine cove between two points of rock and sand. Meding waded ashore, waved to Jess, and started off down the beach.

When she got back to the boat, the sun was high overhead. She had been ashore on Arena much longer than she had intended. She had found a sea heron nest, and the egg she sought was safely wrapped in a cloth she carried in her hand. She had also found something else — something more important; something she had to keep to herself, at least for the present. Jess was annoyed with her.

“By the time we get back to the village, the fish buyers will have left for Narra,” he grumbled. As Meding climbed aboard, he pushed the boat out into the water, jumped aboard, and started the engine.

“I’m sorry,” Meding said, but she offered no explanation. To make up time, Jess ran the old engine harder than he normally would; the bow and the outriggers sliced through the water as they closed the distance to the big island at a ten-knot clip.

Gliding over the shallows they saw that most of the other fishing boats from the village were pulled up on the sand. They exchanged waves with fishermen patching their nets on the beach and with pre-school children playing in the shade of the coconut palm and mangrove trees that bordered the beach. Near a cluster of nippa huts, they saw a group of men and women gathered around several brightly colored motor tricycles.

“Good,” Jess said, “at least some of the fish buyers are still here.” He cut the engine and they drifted forward until the bottom of the boat crunched in the sand. Meding waded ashore and secured the bow line to a tree trunk while Jess, stringers of fish over his arm, sloshed out of the water and headed for the group of people by the motor tricycles.

Later, the business of selling fish completed, Jess and Meding walked up the beach in the direction of Meding’s house. Jess had saved several choice fish and carried them dangling from his hand on a stringer. Meding carried the sea heron egg in its protective cloth. She had insisted on preparing fish and rice for their noon meal.

Shouts: “Madame Meding, Jess!”

They turned to see Paquette, the American, and their son on the beach behind them. Laughing, the three ran to catch up, racing each other in the loose sand. Paquette and the boy, running hard, arrived first. The American was right behind them, jogging easily.

“We were on our way to your house to see you, Madame Meding,” Paquette said, breathing hard and struggling to catch her breath. She laughed. “When I was a girl I used to run the length of this beach and never even breathe hard.”

“If you lived here again for long, you would get your wind back,” Meding said. “I’m glad you have come. You can join us for fish and rice. Also, I have a new pet.” She unfolded the cloth and showed them the sea heron egg. “You can watch while I persuade one of my hens to adopt it.”

“That should be fun,” Paquette said.

The group continued walking up the beach a short distance, then turned to walk through the coconut grove to Meding’s house. They had no sooner reached the shade of the trees when they heard the ruckus: chickens were squawking and Meding’s sow was squealing. Alarmed, Meding dashed ahead, Jess close behind her. What she saw when she reached the yard made her pull up sharply.