Omai laughs. ‘It’s Byron Bay. Everyone’s a surfer.’
‘No. Not like you. You’re Sol Davis, aren’t you?’
He nods, looks at me sheepishly. ‘For my sins.’
‘Wow. You’re pretty famous around here.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘No, sure you are. I saw you surf that tube. It wasamazing. It’s on the internet.’
Omai smiles politely, but I can sense his awkwardness. After the waitress has gone he stares down at his right hand. He spreads the fingers wide, as if miming a starfish, then closes them together, makes a fist, turns his hand over. His skin is smooth and caramel and young-looking. Ocean-preserved. Anageria-preserved.
We chat some more.
Our starters arrive.
He begins to tuck in. He closes his eyes on the first mouthful and makes appreciative noises. I envy his easy access to pleasure.
‘So,’ he says, ‘what have you been up to?’
I tell him. About my life as a teacher. About my life before. Recent history. Iceland, Canada. Germany. Hong Kong. India. America. Then I talk about 1891. About Hendrich. The Albatross Society.
‘It’s people like us. There are lots of us. Well, maybe not lots.’
I explain about the help you’re given. About the Eight-Year Rule. About albas and mayflies. Omai stares at me, wide-eyed and baffled.
‘So what do you do?’ he asks. ‘I mean you?’
‘I go where Hendrich, the boss, tells me to go. I doassignments. I bring people in. Even that isn’t so bad. I recently went to Sri Lanka. It’s a comfortable life.’
Even to my ears ‘comfortable’ sounds like a euphemism.
He laughs, concerned. ‘Bring them in where?’
‘It’s not a particular place. What I mean is: I make people members.’
‘Make? How?’
‘Well, normally it’s a no-brainer. I explain how the society can protect them, handle identity switches – Hendrich hasallkinds of contacts. It’s like a union. Insurance. Except we get paid, just for living.’
‘You’re quite the salesman. You really move with the times, don’t you?’
‘Listen, Omai. This isn’t a joke. We’re as unsafe now as we’ve ever been.’
‘Yeah. And yet, here we still are. Still breathing. In and out.’
‘There are dangers. You – right now – are in danger. There is an institute in Berlin. It knows about you. It has, over the years, taken people.’
Omai laughs. He is actuallylaughing.I think of Marion, missing, possibly, for all I know, taken, and I feel angry. I feel like he is challenging me, like an atheist in front of a Catholic. ‘Taken people? Wow.’
‘It’s true. And it’s not just them these days. There are biotech firms in Silicon Valley and elsewhere who want the ultimate competitive advantage, and we could give it them. We’re not human to them. We’re lab rats.’
He rubs his eyes. He looks tired, suddenly. I am tiring him.
‘Okay. So what do you do for this “protection”? What’s the catch?’
‘The catch is, there are certain obligations.’
