From somewhere came the monotonous ring of metal against metal.
Women hung clothes on a line, bright, flowery shirts that contrasted with their plain, workday clothes. Men in baggy pants hoed a long, narrow garden. A few sang as they worked, a tune not so much cheerless as purposeful.
At their approach, heads turned and work stopped. No one came forward except a skinny black dog who ran in circles in front of them and sent up a clatter.
East or West, Whitney knew curiosity and suspicion when she saw it. She thought it a pity she wore nothing more cheerful than a shirt and slacks. She cast a look at Doug. With his unshaven face and untidy hair, he looked more like he’d just come from a party—a long one.
As they drew closer, she made out a smatter of children. Some of the smaller ones were carried on the backs and hips of men and women. In the air was the smell of animal dung and of cooking. She ran a hand over her stomach, scrambling down a hill behind Doug, who had his nose in the guidebook.
“Do you have to do that now?” she demanded. When he only grunted, she rolled her eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring one of those little clip-on lights so you could read in bed.”
“We’ll pick one up. The Merina are of Asiatic stock— they’re the upper crust of the island. You’d relate to that.”
“Of course.”
Ignoring the humor in her voice, he read on. “They have a caste system that separates the nobles from the middle class.”
“Very sensible.”
When he shot her a look over the top of the book, Whitney only smiled. “Sensibly,” he returned, “the caste system was abolished by law, but they don’t pay much attention.”
“It’s a matter of legislating morality. It never seems to work.”
Refusing to be drawn, Doug glanced up, squinting. The people were drawing together, but it didn’t look like a welcoming committee. According to everything he’d read, the twenty or so tribes or groups of the Malagasy had packed up their spears and bows years ago. Still… he looked back at dozens of dark eyes. He and Whitney would just have to take it one step at a time.
“How do you think they’ll respond to uninvited guests?” More nervous than she wanted to admit, Whitney tucked her arm into his.
He’d slid his way without invitation into more places than he could count. “We’ll be charming.” It usually worked.
“Think you can pull it off?” she asked and strode by him to the flatland at the base of the hill.
Though Whitney felt uneasy, she continued to walk forward, shoulders back. The crowd grumbled, then parted, making a path for a tall, lean-faced man in a stark black robe over a stiff white shirt. He might have been the leader, the priest, the general, but she knew with only a glance that he was important… and he was displeased with the intrusion.
He was also six-four if he was an inch. Abandoning pride, Whitney took a step back so that Doug was in front of her.
“Charm him,” she challenged in a mutter.
Doug scanned the tall black man with the crowd behind him. He cleared his throat. “No problem.” He tried his best grin. “Morning. How’s it going?”
The tall man inclined his head, regal, aloof, and disapproving. In a deep, rumbling voice he tossed out a spate of Malagasy.
“We’re a little short on the language, Mister, ah…” Still grinning, Doug stuck out his hand. It was stared at, then ignored. With the grin still plastered on his face, he took Whitney’s elbow and shoved her forward. “Try French.”
“But your charm was working so well.”
“This isn’t a good time to be a smartass, sugar.”
“You said they were friendly.”
“Maybe he hasn’t read the guidebook.”
Whitney studied the rock-hard face several long inches above hers. Maybe Doug had a point. She smiled, swept up her lashes, and tried a formal French greeting.
The man in black robes stared at her for ten pulsing seconds, then returned it. She nearly giggled in relief. “Okay, good. Now apologize,” Doug ordered.
“For what?”
“For butting in,” he said between his teeth as he squeezed her elbow. “Tell him we’re on our way to Tamatave, but we lost our way and our supplies are low. Keep smiling.”
“It’s easy when you’re grinning like my idiot brother.”
He swore at her, but softly, with his lips still curved. “Look helpless, the way you would if you were trying to fix a flat on the side of the road.”