ABSTRACT
I have no real memories of going away from Beru though a composite picture remains: one or two canoes piled high with our belongings, a cat swimming after us mewing piteously until someone reached over and lifted her aboard; then suddenly, when the canoe thrust forward from the calm waters of the lagoon, a vigorous, animal leap as deep swells beyond the reef caught her and pulled her seawards. Other memories are more tenuous: the scent of frangipani and coconut husk fires; palm crests glittering in the moonlight; trade winds, the boom of surf and a haunting loneliness as one lay awake at night listening to the faint rustle of palm fronds in the darkness. All this remained and mingled with my later life in the Caribbean and Mediterranean islands.
