At the island's edge, Kayode rehearsed that awful celebration in his memory. He could see Folake holding the tray, the room frozen around her, and his own arm lifting the champagne bottle. The memory had once brought him amusement. Now the imagined taste of the drink turned bitter, because he understood he had taken pleasure in the fear of someone who could not safely defend herself.
Alone on the island, Kayode spoke into the wind: "That party night keeps returning to my mind: her soaked face, my loud laughter... all of it. These soft hands once only signed papers; now they twist rope from trees to stay alive. A bottle—a whole bottle washed to my feet! Now my water will travel with me everywhere."
Folake said, "Dance with me properly tonight, Tayo. No trays, no orders—just music and two free friends celebrating."
Folake murmured, "My father taught me this tune on a piano in our neighbor's house, Tayo, before money entered our story."
Folake said, "Lie back on his golden bed, Tayo, and feel how soft a rich bed can be."
Tayo replied, "It is sweet to lie on his bed, Tayo, but it is still his bed, not ours."
Tayo said, "Folake, we are only enjoying his rooms. Nobody said we must carry his fortune away."
Captain said, "To the true owner of this fine ship, Folake. May kindness sail further than cruelty."
Folake said, "Thank you, Segun. My father trusted you; tonight, I see why he chose you."
The island offered Kayode no such comfort. The days were marked on improvised surfaces and measured by the work required to remain alive. He searched the rocks for food and listened to the sound of his own breath in the shelter. Each small success now mattered in a way no expensive purchase ever had. When he finally managed a meal, gratitude arrived without applause or photographs.
Alone on the island, Kayode spoke into the wind: "Shells today—real food from these rocks. My beard grows wild, but my belly will rest tonight. Pull this branch tight, Kayode. A weak shelter will not survive the next strong wind from the sea. Night is coming again, talking to waves that never answer me back. From up here, I see my whole kingdom: trees, sand, and sea... and not one living soul."
Folake said, "This gold gown was made for evenings like this, Tayo. Watch how the sunset honors it."
Tayo observed, "Walk slowly, Folake. In that gown and this suit, we own every inch of this shining deck."
Folake said softly, "A gala dinner for two in this great hall, Tayo: served slowly, enjoyed slowly, remembered forever."
Folake replied, "This is my father, Tayo: the hands that built this ship, and the heart that taught me dignity."
Tayo said, "Then tonight, this hall honors him too, Folake. His ship is sailing under his daughter again."
Folake murmured, "Dance with me under these lounge lights, Tayo. In evening dress, the way free people should dance."