The Book of Strange New Things(25)

‘Moro. Pleased to meet you.’ The woman extended her right hand. He hesitated before shaking it, having noticed that one of her fingers ended at a knuckle stub and her pinky was missing altogether. He took hold and she squeezed, confidently.

‘You know, that’s very unusual,’ he said, sitting down next to her.

‘Factory accident,’ she said. ‘Happens every day.’

‘No, I meant the way you offered me that hand. I’ve met lots of people with fingers missing from their right hand. They always offer the left one for a handshake. Because they don’t want to make the other person feel uncomfortable.’

She seemed mildly surprised. ‘Is that a fact?’ Then she smiled and shook her head, as if to say, Some people sure are weird. Her gaze was direct and yet guarded, examining him for identifiers that could be logged in the as-yet empty file labelled Missionary From England.

‘I just went out for a walk,’ he said, gesturing at the darkness outside. ‘My first time.’

‘Not much to see,’ she said.

‘Well, it is night,’ he said.

‘Even in daylight, there’s not much to see. But we’re working on that.’ She didn’t sound proud or off-hand, just descriptive.

‘What’s your job here?’

‘Engineering technologist.’

He allowed himself to look bemused, signalling: Please explain. She parried with a look that signalled: It’s late and I’m tired.

‘Also,’ she said, ‘I do some work in the kitchens, cooking and baking, every ninety-six hours.’ She raked her fingers through her hair. There were grey roots under the glossy black and orange. ‘That’s kinda fun, I look forward to that.’

‘Volunteer work?’

‘No, it’s all part of my schedule. You’ll find a lot of us have more than one function here.’ She stood up. It wasn’t until she extended her hand again that Peter realised their encounter was over.

‘I’d better get cleaned up,’ she explained.

‘Nice to have met you, Moro,’ he said.

‘Likewise,’ she said, and walked out.

‘Makes good dim sum parcels,’ said the Chinese man when she’d gone.

‘Excuse me?’ said Peter.

‘Dim sum pastry is a difficult thing,’ said the Chinese man. ‘It’s fragile. The dough. But it’s gotta be thin or it’s not dim sum. Tricky. But she’s good at it. We can always tell when she’s been on kitchen duty.’

Peter moved to a vacant chair next to the Chinese man.

‘I’m Peter,’ he said.

‘Werner,’ said the Chinese man. His hand was five-fingered and pudgy, and exerted a carefully measured firmness in the handshake. ‘So, you’ve been exploring.’

‘Not much yet. I’m still very tired. Just got here.’

‘Takes a while to adjust. Those molecules in you gotta calm down. When’s your first shift?’

‘Uh . . . I don’t really . . . I’m here as a pastor. I suppose I expect to be on duty all the time.’

Werner nodded, but there was a hint of bemusement on his face, as though Peter had just confessed to signing a shonky contract without proper legal advice.

‘Doing God’s work is a privilege and a joy,’ said Peter. ‘I don’t need any breaks from it.’

Werner nodded again. Peter noted at a glance that the magazine he’d been reading was Pneumatics & Hydraulics Informatics, with a full-colour cover photo of machine innards and the snappy headline MAKING GEAR PUMPS MORE VERSATILE.

‘This pastor thing . . . ’ said Werner. ‘What are you gonna be doing, exactly? On a day-to-day basis?’

Peter smiled. ‘I’ll have to wait and see.’

‘See how the land lays,’ suggested Werner.

‘Exactly,’ said Peter. Tiredness was swamping him again. He felt as if he might pass out right there in his chair, slide onto the floor for Stanko to mop up.

‘I gotta admit,’ said Werner, ‘I don’t know much about religion.’

‘And I don’t know much about pneumatics and hydraulics,’ said Peter.

‘Not my line, either,’ said Werner, reaching over with some effort to replace the magazine in the racks. ‘I just picked it up out of curiosity.’ He faced Peter again. There was something he wanted to clarify. ‘China didn’t even have religion for a long time, under, like, one of the dynasties.’

‘What dynasty was that?’ For some reason, the word ‘Tokugawa’ popped into Peter’s mind, but then he realised he was confusing Japanese and Chinese history.

‘The Mao dynasty,’ said Werner. ‘It was bad, man. People getting killed left, right and centre. Then things loosened up. People could do what they liked. If you wanted to believe in God, fine. Buddha, too. Shinto. Whatever.’

‘What about you? Were you ever interested in any faith?’

Werner peered up at the ceiling. ‘I read this huge book once. Must’ve been four hundred pages. Scientology. Interesting. Food for thought.’

Oh, Bea, thought Peter, I need you here by my side.

‘You gotta understand,’ Werner went on, ‘I’ve read a lot of books. I learn words from them. Vocabulary building. So if I ever come across a weird word one day, in a situation where it matters, I’m, like, ready for it.’