There is nobody inside, he said. But I said: No, des’, it could not be like that. A house is strong, I said, and has its own time. You will see, I said; you will see how a house endures. Thinking of this house, and the far rooms, that voices go into and then you hear nothing, but still they are there. When first I came from Wayouyo I said to Naibusi: This house is too hollow, too loud. Because a house among palms is like a house at sea, and the leaves are in it all around you, night and day. A house should be like a cave, I said, closed and dark. But Naibusi said: No, that is not the Dimdim custom. They like the wind in their houses, she said, and to look out on the sea, and I think he listens to the palms, because he planted them in the time when he was strong and young. My house is a conch, he said. By and by it will ring in the wind. When he spoke to me he was sad. The rain is eating my house, he said. We were outside, in front of the house, and we looked to see what the rain had done, and Misa Makadoneli was shaking his head, a sad man.
