“No!” Maru splashed his arms on the surface. “No! No! No!”
“I’m sorry…I’m not the god the people think I am. I’m not a miracle worker. I can only work with what’s available. The wound is too deep.”
Maru stared at Sartin, the tears running down his face, standing out from the splash. Maru swam for the island. Sartin swam underneath him until Maru took hold of Sartin’s neck and carried him back to the shore.
26
When they arrived back in the village, tension and alarm had replaced the calm and hope that had filled the village when they had left. Maru headed for the hut where his father lay, Sartin close behind.
The chief lay on his pallet, his chest heaving for life-giving air. His entire body shone with perspiration. Maru’s mother dutifully sponged her husband’s body, the other women in the village keeping her supplied with fresh water and clean cloths.