Somebody slapped the canvas on the outside of the tent and shouted, “Service!” Moments later the whole camp stirred into weary activity. The woman’s eyes lit up. “No not that sort of service,” O’Mally explained. “No room service here baby. You’re expected to attend a church service every day. Christianity has returned here. Even for the Muslims! They won’t mind if we miss a day. Shamus is my family name. My mother’s father was an O’Mally, so my mum had the bright idea of calling me O’mally. Stupid. I suffered.” O’Mally became silent for a moment. He gave her the thousand-mile stare and continued: “Believe me, I suffered. But anyway, I got into acting; small stuff, a few movies you might have heard of, but bit parts. It became useful then ’cause I called myself Sean O’Mally. For the book writing I changed it again, to Seamus Mally. Anyway, my friends call me Ome, so you can too.” “And the story?” “Yes. Apart from the alien stuff. But that’s my interpretation.” “Is that true about the Jesus and Brazil?” “Yeah. Believe so. I saw it. Took me almost six months to get here. Now I have to get back. The car is gone of course. Useless without chargers. I have to get back to my girls.” “In London?” “Yes.” The woman shook her head slowly, but said nothing.
— Tuma attemps to outwit is his old lover, Llanka, but he reckons without her love for Sumataniki or the wisdom of the years since they last met. —
“You want me to spy for you?” “I wouldn’t put it that way. We were lovers once.” Llanka laughed sarcastically and grinned at Tuma. She had made her mind up. “Alright. Where’s this comfortable room you talked about?” Tuma led her toward the servant’s chamber. On the other side of a heavy door, she heard the unmistakable growl of an Anakuna, the wolf-men that had dogged the history of Peroturnaka. “They live here now?” she asked Tuma. “Only one.” “The leader? The female with the gold earrings?” “Ha! No. She died centuries ago. A distant descendant. They’re few now and they will soon die out completely. They’re stuck here. Their flying carts – they call them space ships – constantly break down. Anyway, they still help me and soon I won’t even need them. Don’t worry. You’re safe. Here we are.” Tuma opened a door and watched as she lay upon the luxurious bed. Indeed, her silky hair, when splayed out on the blue pillow reminded him of the Princess, whom he had felt forced to kill. He bitterly rued the day, but sought to sink its memory forever in his kisses upon Llanka’s soft skin. As he kissed her bared breasts and forced himself into her, Tuma whispered, “Puki! Puki!” Llanka bit her tongue and stared at the ceiling.