The corruption could not be contained. That was the long view. The present was different. A mess of unclosed accounts, unfinished business. In the bottomless pit, you had the sense of something swimming, eels or mermaids, the dark air like water. On the far side of the island, you listened to the rain batter the metal roof. First you had to clear your mind and sit still for a very long time. Then you made your testimony in good faith. Whoever ransacked the shelves was only interested in contracts, ledgers, dossiers. The entire saga had to be reassembled, word for word, beginning to end. There’s honest work in reconstruction. The historian as detective. The detective as composite. The poisonous earth pooling beside you in little cups. This is the safety you were looking for, already knowing how it ends. There is license in the disease, but once the waiting is over, you’ll breathe again the silver air.