Terry told the driver to drive anywhere, high up, show us the sights; we sat back against the plush leather of the Mercedes and watched the contrast that is Manila. Twenty-five percent of the entire population live on the streets in the direst poverty imaginable; there are more prostitutes of either sex (including children) here than in any city in the world and yet the people are intensely religious, flamboyantly Catholic, and some of the richest people in Asia live here. It is a city of uneasy beauty, corruption and courage side by side, the place where People Power once showed us the potential of the masses for good and yet, day by day, it is an object lesson in greed, exploitation and the shame of the West.

Neither of us said much as the car wended its way through teeming city traffic, the ubiquitous jeepneys burrowing their way through the near standstill. I watched beautiful women everywhere, slender and lithe, dark shiny blue-black hair glossy in the bright sunlight as they passed by my field of vision. No wonder men are so intoxicated by the allure of this place.

Terry held my hand as I stared through the window; I felt the pressure of his fingers as he idly played with mine.  He knew I wanted to talk to him with that instinct he has to read another. He judges well the moment when an enemy is weakening, a target is capitulating, a breakthrough is appearing or the instant when an ordinary person discovers the extraordinary inside of themselves. And he knows when a mixed up mess of a woman is beginning to see the light.

We were off the main thoroughfares now, on a hillside overlooking the great bay. Ahead was a beautiful church, gleaming white against a brilliant blue sky, set in verdant tropical grounds with a convent school attached. An imposing white marble statue of a Madonna stood at the center of the site adorned with flowers and flanked with masses of candles and votive offerings, spent wax spilling thick rivers on the slabs of pavement stone beneath. The baby in her arms seemed to be held out in supplication, an offering to the world.

Stop!" I leant forward and spoke to the driver. He parked in the car park and Terry and I stepped out from the cool interior to the burning humidity outside. He never asked me 'Why here?' but simply took my hand and led me to a bench on the hillside beneath a jacaranda tree where we sat down and looked at the view. Behind me I could hear a clanging bell call the nuns to prayer; it was almost lunchtime and the Angelus was being rung. Vague, long forgotten memories of my own schooldays drifted by me and the familiar words of prayers that you can never forget came to mind - the triumph of rote learning.

'The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary 
And she conceived of the Holy Spirit...

I mumbled the words. 

"You found God at last?" Terry smiled.

I shook my head. "Not really. Maybe. Not sure you ever lose him if you're brought up as I was. I don't know. There's something out there, Terry, and that's for sure. It's either Him Upstairs, the Immortals on Olympus, some Force behind the portal who brought us all together...or maybe just the fact that The Creator is such a sentimental old fool...but something is out there working for us."

He nodded and put his arm around me. I nestled in the crook of his shoulder, cradled in the warm haven of his arms. My senses seemed full of him; his clean, fresh smell, light crisp fragrance, the sweet undertone of sweat forming in the humid atmosphere, that male scent beneath that intoxicated me. And all about, the perfumes of a tropical garden, heady scents of exotic flowers and bushes, a distant smell of lunch frying, spicy and pungent. My mind seemed to be registering sensation very acutely today - sight, sound, smell and touch. His touch. Light but sure. There for me and no one else. Waiting patiently until I could bear to let him in again.

"I have to tell you something to make you understand. You need to know this before we can go on. It took me a long time to figure it out... But here goes..." One last look up at his face for courage; his eyes fixed on me, willing me to take the step. I nestled back down and began.

"It was a horrible thing for anyone and I had plenty of reasons to be upset and traumatized. I was raped...I realize that now. It is rape if you have no choice but to let a man have your body against your will, even if you offer it to him to save your life. It's very difficult to explain to a man how rape makes you feel - although I have no doubts that, of all men, you understand better than most.... I also killed a man and took a life. That still bothers me, even though it was self-defence and I would have died myself had I not done so. Both of those things have made me weak and fragile. But...I understood them. I can deal with them in time. You have dealt with the latter all your life and no one knows more about the struggle to forgive yourself for that than you do."

"But they were not the cause of my deep fear. They merely masked it, gave me a reason to be scared, protected me from the real knowledge that was tearing me apart. Terry...he told me you were dead. I believed him. He told me that you were not as good as he was. He was young, strong, fast and you were past your best. I know he lied... but he planted a shard of ice in my heart with his words. Because they were true. You are not Superman, not some sort of invincible hero who can protect everyone from anything. You're just a man like anyone else and you may fail - just like anyone else."

I paused to compose myself. Pushing my face deeper against his chest, I felt his lips skim my hair in a whisper of a kiss. "Are you saying that you've lost faith in me? Is that what this is about?" He asked the question quietly but I was not fooled by his measured tone. It revealed his own fear; was he something less than he thought he was, even to me?

"No, that is not what I am saying." I sat up and stroked back his hair, wiping the slight beading of sweat from his brow. "I thought you were a superhero.  I never was afraid for you. You could do anything. You were my Achilles- invulnerable. I forgot that even he had a heel though, didn't I? I'm not saying that I think you're any less of a man now that I have discovered that you're not invincible. I mean quite the opposite. Now, I believe you are something different. A real hero. A man who knows he can fail but who just keeps pushing back against the tide. You go out there and do things that few people ever would, with the knowledge that every time you do so, your life is being offered for some one else, someone you don't hardly know, and that one day you might meet a Raul, or make an error....Terry, how can you live like that? That is real bravery. Like you once said 'If you don't feel fear, then courage does not exist.'  I never really understood that until this thing happened. I never knew how brave you really were or what costs you've incurred to be the man you are. I have never, ever, been the support you needed. And then I realized maybe I couldn't be..."

The tears came then. I was surprised that they had held off so long. Waves of tears, sobbing and choking, making me unable to speak or explain myself. But he simply held me close, his hand gently rubbing my back, like a mother to a little child. After a long while, they subsided. I scrabbled in my bag for a tissue; he took it and held it while I blew my nose and mopped up. He smiled and I tried to respond, a hesitant and wary little loosening of my lips.

"Go on," he whispered, "I'm still listening..."

I took a deep breath. "Raul kept appearing in my dreams. He told me that one day the phone would ring and this time you would be dead. I would have to identify your body. Stand by your grave. Be alone with only memories. It is only a matter of time...he kept saying it. I just couldn't face that knowledge. I had been through it once and I just couldn't face it again. So...I just hid inside myself."

"Raul was your own fear. He was the mouthpiece for what you had learnt about me but did not dare admit. It makes sense; I should have seen it..."

"No...you should not! That is so typical of you. It was never your responsibility to make me able to deal with this. Can't you see that?" I grabbed the collar of his shirt in my frustration that my words were only eating further into his guilt.

He ran his hands through his hair. "I thought you were dead. Do you know how that made me feel? The final insult. The gods must be laughing. But you were alive and I had my world back...except I didn't. I had the nightmare of you as an empty shell, your light and passion extinguished by my failure to protect you. How can it not be my responsibility?"

"Terry----shit happens! It's other people's shit - not ours! That's what I have learned. We do the best we can and if we try our best then that is all we can do. Life might deal us ace hands or the bum rap...in the end it's just chance and we have to ride the blows as well as grab the gifts. Lachlan...he knew that. We could learn a lot from him."

He wiped my eyes and held my face in his hands.

"And now? How do you feel now?" he asked, his fingers trailing my damp cheeks.

"I know you don't like me to talk about the other Brothers...I mean being with them...but I have to talk about Lachlan. He is like you when you were younger...or at least I think he is. He is a man but he still has his innocence, although the first signs of cynicism have crept in. He is strong and true but lonely and vulnerable. Just like you. Through him, I saw you when you were less skilled at putting up the barrier, when you still showed in your face how life was wounding you. I saw a man conquering his fears and accepting the awful cost of being what he was.'

'Terry, I am a mess and it will be a while before I am truly back to my best but I'm making great strides. I don't want to live with a Superhero anymore. I want to live with a really brave man who tries his best but doesn't always get it right. I want to be a support for him and I will try my very hardest to be the woman he deserves. I wish I was better than I am...because you ought to have so much more..."

"No!"

He said the word vehemently and I looked up at him, surprised at his tone. His eyes were moist and his face seemed pained. "Jesus...you are all those things! Why do you think you make the difference? Why were you always the one? You never made me feel like I had all the answers. Uma...how can I prove to you what you mean to me? Just never let me go again...and never change. That's the most important thing...never change..." Neither of us could speak. Well, I was crying too much and he wasn't going to blub in public, was he, being so tough and all?

Suddenly he found his voice again. "I should have taken you to the hospital. It's the first rule when a female hostage is released. All the tests...be gentle, surreptitious, but have them check for sexual assault, pregnancy, blood tests, HIV, VD...arrange necessary treatment...talk to the family, quick termination if the pregnancy test is positive..."

"Terry...what are you going on about?" He was rambling, almost talking to himself.

"I washed you clean and drove them away. I couldn't bear for anyone else to touch you. I made a real mistake. You should never deal with your own family...it's too close...it was my own insecurity. If he had made you pregnant...Jesus Christ...I couldn't think about it. I should have faced it."

"But Terry, I came on just after..."

"I know and I shelved the rest. But, Uma...you should have been tested. I think you're clean...least ways I am, and I reckon I would have contracted it..."

"Well of course I was tested! I did it in London as soon as we got back. Went to a women's Clinic and told them I'd been raped. They checked everything."

He pulled back and stared at me. "Why didn't you say? You shouldn't have gone alone! You must have been so afraid..."

I smiled and chucked his chin. "Well...I didn't relish the thought but...I'm a woman. We think of these things. It isn't the first time in my life I've run a risk, I'm afraid to say. I didn't tell you because you had enough to upset you. I just didn't want to add to it. It never occurred to me that you had thought of it too. Do you think I don't know how you feel about being infertile? Do you think I would ever willingly remind you of it? But it's something we simply have to face and accept. Just one of those little jokes that the gods play on us."

He put his hand to his face and began to laugh. "What a fucking disaster area we are! Here's me worrying about you for the wrong reasons entirely. Guess I just think I know women...I don't have a fucking clue, do I?"

I stood and pulled him up. "Don't talk such crap. You know women better than any man I know. And, although you will strangle me for saying this...you have a very well developed feminine side. You are good at listening, nurturing, counselling, consoling...I think I will call you Nurse Terry from now on! Seriously though...it isn't a feminine side, really. That's an insult to men with sensitivity. You have a very well developed instinct to take care and protect...it's actually a sign of your masculinity. Just that most men don't even have a clue how to be men."

He shrugged in his self-effacing way and held me tight. I know neither of us was going to be able to return to the place we started from overnight, but the struggle to get back there will be part of the growing strength between us. As much as I wished for a return to the halcyon days on board ship, a few months ago, I know that where we were now was ultimately a firmer foundation for the future. We will survive this and hold each other up through the time to come. But I would be a naïve fool in the extreme if I thought that a man like Terry Thorne could heal the wounds of a lifetime in one day- and was I any less damaged than he was, when we came down to it? Every day, in every way, I am getting better and better....

"You know I half expected to lose you over this," I said to him as we walked through the grounds, arms around each other.

"What do you mean? Why would I leave you when you needed me most?" Terry asked, bewildered by my comment. Of course he would feel like that. He is the loyal one who stays like a faithful dog to the end, even at the cost of his own safety and peace of mind.

"I ...wanted you to meet Heather because I had a strong feeling that she would be the right woman for you. I had this notion that you would fall in love with her and in time you would feel free enough to take a new step. I would never stand in your way if another Sister came along with a better claim on you. I want you to be happy above all else."

"And what about your happiness?" he asked with a sad smile on his face.

I shrugged. "I can't win it at the expense of someone else's misery. I would survive...in time." I swallowed hard, unsure if that was what I had really meant to do. A memory of a night counting sleeping pills still loomed in my brain.

"It doesn't work like that, Tink. This Game has a logical order for all its illogicality. Heather made a very big mark on me...you were right - as she will on all the Brothers. I needed what she had to bestow on me, needed it so badly that I fell headlong into her arms. But I'm not the right man for her and she's not meant for me. We'll always be close; she knows a lot about me -some things I've only ever told you. But I'm too old, too jaded and too world weary for a young woman like her."

"And I am old, jaded and worn enough for you, am I?" I grinned, hugging him to me in his brutal honesty.

"No...you are the sorry woman who is meant by fate to pick up this mess of a man and put him back together again. Whatever you think, I never once lost sight of you. Although I might have tried to hide in another place for a while."

"You and me both. Time to hide with each other now, pal." He tightened his grip on me and sighed; I rested my head against his chest as we strolled on.

"Terry...about Lachlan..."

"I understand. Really I do. When things have calmed down, see him again. I think he wants that. I think you owe it to him." I looked up and he was staring ahead, his face set and his eyes blank. It had cost him quite a lot to say that at this moment. We didn't say anything else; the look that passed between us said more than any words.

Ahead of us was the whitewashed church and I steered Terry towards it as we walked along. We stood at the back and watched the little children being settled down for midday Mass by the nuns in their white dresses and modest veils. It was both familiar and alien to us both, so far away were we from the world of our school days.

At the door was a small piety stall, a tiny old lady sitting behind it on a stool. There was the usual mish mash of religious trinkets for sale: gaudy statues, highly stylised and sentimental paintings in cheap frames, holy pictures, Mass cards, medals. They were the framework of my childhood, the picture of the guardian angel above my bed, the medals pinned upon my vest when I was sent out to school. How quickly one passes from it all but how deeply it is engrained on one's psyche!

I am the most cynical of women, as Terry is of men. We both baulk at superstition and blind belief, mistrust its dangerous allure and fear its possession of naïve minds. But still, I picked up a St. Christopher medal and contemplated its meaning. Poor St. Chris has now been demoted to the realms of Catholic legend- he never existed and is merely some sort of metaphor for Christ. Modern enlightened Catholics do not wear his medal as a totem or charm against danger when we travel on a journey as we once did. I thought about the story we had been told by the nuns as children, of Christopher whose job was to carry people across a wide river on his back.

One day he picked up a tiny child and, as he waded through the raging torrents, the child became heavier and heavier until he felt he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. St. Christopher...keep us safe.  I paid my few cents and claimed the tawdry cheap tin medal. I would ask Terry to carry it for me and I know he would, simply to indulge my crazy fancies. Yet it seemed significant to me that I had remembered that childhood story now- Terry, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, the man who most needed someone to keep him safe from harm.

Stepping to join him at the rear of the nave, I looked up at the altar and saw the stark image of Christ crucified. It is a very potent male image. There are few men that can live up to it. The notion of a man, bruised and broken by an uncaring world, who still redeems it through his love. A man of sorrows acquainted with infirmity.  I know so many men like that. Maximus, Bud, Cort , Jack at the stocks, Lachlan, Jeff in his fashion, even Hando in a curious way, as blasphemous as that might sound...but most of all Terry. I looked up at him and caught his eye. He indicated something else to me. Another statue on a side chapel. A Pieta. A woman sitting with the naked dead body of the man she loves stretched over her lap. It is a harrowing image. But it is life. And without real pain then pleasure does not exist. Just like fear and courage.