By Lois Joy. I awoke this morning chilled from the damp air of Savusavu Bay but no longer having to push aside mosquito netting. Well, now we have Bliss back, enveloping us in her caring bosom, a self-contained resort right here. We have coffee from our French Press and solar panels providing us with instant power.
As I write at my familiar perch on the helm seat, the air is still and yachts moored all around me are turning every which way on the shiny, aluminum foil Bay. The sun breaks through the damp mist hung over the little island nearby. It is our Independence Day. But my mind is still immersed in our most recent adventure—mulling over the Saga of Susie.
The saga had only come together in the end. Even now, the characters remain mysterious to me: Viola and Roland—the Europeans—had not been overly forthcoming; their talk was understandably focused on their own dilemma. Abie—the other European in the story—was always secretive; he never did level with us. To know them is to love them! And then, Susie herself was an enigma. She appeared cold and aloof, the princess about whom everything revolves, but who never dirties her hands.
Did she deliberately stay behind the scenes, pulling the strings like the master of a puppet show? Or is she just another wooly-headed Fijian—albeit one of chiefly birth, trying to sort out her path through a treacherous world—wealthy in land, yet struggling for survival like all the other Fijians living in Taveuni? As the passengers all left the wharf, we and a nicely frocked lady were the only ones apparently without a ride.
They were supposed to pick us up. This was our first surprise. Well, it was all true, to a point. We were sitting with them at dinner that evening. I described how we contacted them.
