Along the wharf, different-sized ferries sloshed into their berths, slapping rolls of wake against the massive anchoring posts of the jetties and, across from the Bridge, the Opera House curved up in a jumble of white ceramic edged waves from a tongue of land that poked out into the harbour.
“What’s that smell?” he asked. He could even savour the saltiness of it on his tongue.
“Sea water – plus shell fish, seaweed maybe,” Akira shrugged. “Do you like it? I love it.”
The salty marine aroma mingled with the air and all memory of the earlier haunted emptiness of the city evaporated. Here the crowds were lingering, strolling or, like them, spread out on the grass. Behind them a group of young people, with pale faces and black clothes, sat in a circle. And to the side, a man, woman and two s
