The Hand of the Devil by Dean Vincent Carter Page B

Perhaps the isolation of the island had already got to me, as the sound of the plane seemed like a reassuring connection to the outside world. Mather waited until the sound had gone altogether.
    ‘You see, the mosquito is a disease vector. It doesn’t create the disease, it only carries it. After ingesting the blood of an infected person, it will fly off and unknowingly incubate the malaria parasite until it feeds on another human, passing it into their bloodstream, where it multiplies and attacks. Malaria isn’t something mosquitoes are born with, you see; they have to feed on someone infected with it. It’s the same with yellow fever, dengue and the West Nile virus. The mosquito is extremely proficient at disease transmission, even though it’s completely unaware of what’s going on.’
    ‘We’re lucky to still be here then,’ I said.
    ‘Hmm.’ Mather considered this briefly. ‘Well, possibly. You have to bear in mind that there are a lot of factors that affect a certain species or a certain disease. If there were, say, a thousand times more mosquitoes in the world than there are now, they might spend too much of their time attacking each other over territory to be bothered with us. If they didn’t destroy themselves, they might end up wiping out the diseases they carry by spreading them too thin. Perhaps the more a disease is spread, the less potent it is, and the more resistant we become. But’ – he chuckled – ‘it’s all guesswork, I’m afraid. I’m no expert on tropical diseases, I’m just theorizing. Although, everything in nature is exhaustible. Nothing is infinite if you look far enough down the timeline. If a certain disease became more widespread, there’s a chance that the human race could become more resistant to it, and the symptoms, in time, could be less severe. But we’re not talking about the common cold. Malaria is pretty hostile and it’s unlikely we’ll ever become resistant to it.’ He stopped, pondering what he’d said. ‘It’s a most interesting subject though. I’m sure someone’s written a book about it.’
    Although it was nowhere near as interesting as the story I’d come to the island for, there was a chance I could use some of what Mather had said as the basis for an article, bolstered perhaps by information I might find on the Internet. Derek had told me to return with something. Perhaps a story about mosquitoes and mosquito theories would be a good enough substitute. Something rational and thought-provoking might even make a nice change for the magazine.
    ‘Excuse me a moment,’ Mather said, setting his cup down on the tray and rising to his feet. ‘I won’t be a second. Have you finished?’ He gestured towards my tea.
    I drained the last of it, then gave him the cup. ‘Thanks. I’m not a big tea drinker, but that was very good.’
    ‘You’re welcome.’ He picked up the tray and left the room. I heard him put it down in the kitchen and run some water. A few minutes later there came the sound of footsteps in the corridor and what I guessed was the bathroom door closing.
    While Mather was away, I took another look around the living room. Now that more daylight had been allowed in, it seemed bigger. I went over to the piles of books, crammed together on the shelves opposite the window. Some of them were very old; many were bound in a thick material, embossed in some cases with lettering and patterns. Some volumes seemed to be falling apart: loose pages were poking out from them. I picked up one of these editions for a closer look, careful not to cause any further damage, and realized that it wasn’t falling apart at all. The pages that stuck out in various places were actually from other books. Mather seemed to be using them as bookmarks. Why he would want to do such a thing was a mystery, unless the pages had been torn from a book he would otherwise have thrown away. Given the number of books he had though, it was hard to believe that Mather could be so