Monsignor Argabuendista couldn’t sleep very well that night following the visit by Senhor Ortiz. The story he told disturbed his mind — that and some other things he had heard.
    He wasn’t sure. First thing in the morning he would have to get some of his stories confirmed. But who would know?
   This kept Father Argabuendista tossing and turning all night.
   The next morning, somewhat blurry eyed, he made his way to the market. After looking around at some of the wares, talking to some of the merchants, and asking about this one and that one, his eyes lit on a familiar face he hadn’t seen in many years.
   ‘Pierre! What brings you to this port?’ he asked in the local Polynesian dialect.
   Pierre, of course was his Christian name, having been baptised by a French priest at a French colonial outpost.
   ‘I’ve come to visit an old friend, and to obtain supplies they said can only be bought on this island.’
   After some more small talk about how his old father was, how things were on the other island, and such, Father Argabuendista asked the question that had kept him up all night.
   ‘Pierre, you once told me that when you were young, you went to an island called Doma. Could you tell me about that island, and I think one near to it called Dtoma?’
   ‘Yes Father. The two islands are haunted. They are called the ‘Twin Islands’, because in the pagan belief, they represent twin gods. When I went there as a young man, we saw what we thought were people inhabiting the island called Doma. At first, they seemed like real people — not spirits. We went a week later to the other island called Dtoma, and saw what appeared to be exactly the same group of people, and moreover, they knew us from the previous visit to the other island. We knew, then, that they were indeed not people at all, but phantoms — spirits from some sunken ship or other. Because they had inhabited the one island, being twin islands, they also appeared on the other as well.’
   ‘Yes, I see,’ said the padre.
   After some more small talk, Father Argabuendista walked back to the parish house.
   Day and night, the padre couldn’t get his mind off the story he heard, and that of Senhor Ortiz. One day, he decided he must pay a visit to the islands. A trip to the pier told him this would be easier said than done.
   ‘Doma and Dtoma? No Padre. I won’t go near that place!’
   ‘But Padre! That place has spirits!’
   ‘It’s not that I’m afraid of spirits, Padre, but the place is rather far.’
   ...and such were the excuses he heard all day.
   On the second day, it was the same — except for the arrival of one whom, under normal circumstances, would have made Father Argabuendista wince: Paulo Calabrerra, a renowned atheist.
   ‘Senhor Calabrerra, you are not a superstitious man are you?’ said the padre as soon as they had made their gentlemanly greetings.
   ‘I should hope I’m not,’ was the reply.
   ‘There are a couple of islands to the North East of here, which they say are haunted by hideous spirits that will eat one alive. I wonder if you’ll be so kind as to take me there — for an agreed on fee, of course.’
   ‘What islands might these be?’
   ‘Doma and Dtoma,’ said the priest.
   ‘And you, yourself, aren’t afraid of not coming away alive?’
   ‘As I see it, I have the power of the most high God to defend me, and you have the power of nature. If you wish, it may well be an opportunity to prove a local superstition groundless.’
   Senhor Calabrerra thought a moment.
   ‘This may be an interesting voyage — to a ghost island with a priest who seems to be not afraid of ghosts.’
   In the end, he accepted. The cost was a bit hefty, but Father Argabuendista thought that the mission he was about to undertake justified the price.
   A few days later, they were off.
   Father Argabuendista decided that the first stop should be Doma, as Senhor Ortiz had named that island as being the home of his wife and family. Although it wasn’t on the chart, Senhor Calabrerra knew how to get there.
   And so they arrived.

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