Even the ocean breezes did little to help circulate the air. The sun shone all around Anjer. People avoided the open roads and strolled along under the trees. Some ladies carried parasols; others found relief with lacy fans. Everyone wore white and looked like clouds come down to visit Earth. In the distance, the sunlight danced on the waters of the Sunda Strait, making the surface twinkle. The pale cloud of smoke hanging over Krakatau created the sole ugly spot, and even that line of gray had a kind of majesty in its ability to remind us all of the power of nature to impress mankind. Every time I saw it, I couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Darwin’s words: “There is grandeur in this view of life, with its several powers, having been originally breathed into a few forms or into one.” I kept those words to myself, though, on the afternoon that Tante Greet said, “That smoke. All it does is hang over the island. Like a guest who refuses to leave.” “Let us not be bothered by the ugliness over Krakatau,”
