December 1915
Helena was there, just on the periphery of his vision. He could sense her; he knew that subtle perfume that she wore on very special occasions. He reached out, but she was not there. He peered into the opaque landscape, where the desert dust of the Kalahari hazed everything and saw her form, plumper now after two children, but even more desirable for that.
"Helena"
She did not reply.
"Helena"
She turned to him, unsmiling, with her eyes invisible. He tried to step forward but could not move. His legs failed to respond. She was drifting away, sliding into the ethereal distance. She was leaving him.
"I had to go, Andrew," she said. "I did not wish to."
Selkirk recalled that day on the stoep watching the huge orange sun set across half the continent, casting shadows on the
