Kumiko preferred the wildness of the islanders. Their faces showed the contempt of empty nets. Their eyes cut into her. Their slick words and heavy fists. They never let Kumiko wonder where she stood with them. They taught her how to talk over the roar of the sea. They shouted at her, kissed her, scolded her, praised her, and the whole island, together, expected the world of her—to see, to know, and to provide.
