"Either to speak ... or to hold his tongue. I believe it's to hold his tongue."
"Then can anything have happened?"
"Sixty years ago? Auntie, can't you remember?"
"But, my dear, I was so young, I didn't notice things. I was a girl of seventeen. Yes, yes, Auntie herself was young once. I was seventeen.... I and the other children had remained in the town: a sister of Grandmamma's was taking charge of us. Papa had gone to the hills for his health. He and Mamma were staying at a pasangrahan and—I remember this now—they had taken Harold with them. Yes, I remember, Harold was not with us. They had taken him: Harold was Papa's favourite.... It was there that Papa was drowned. One night, in the kali.[1] He was restless, could not sleep, walked into the jungle, missed his way and slipped into the river. I remember all that."
"And Papa was in the pasangrahan with them?"
"Yes, your father was with them. He was a little fellow of thirteen then."
"And he has known, since then?"
"Is that what he says?"
"Then he must know something ... about the hills, about the pasangrahan...."
"Ina, what can it be?"